


You Feel Like Moonlight On My Skin

by randifrnZ



Series: A Sprawling Metropolis [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dorne, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Growing Up, Highgarden (ASoIaF), King's Landing, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, Stormlands - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22982776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randifrnZ/pseuds/randifrnZ
Summary: After six months in the capital, it is time the future King and Queen of Westeros continue the envoy through the kingdoms of the lands to know and build relationships with their people. Throughout their journey, the crown prince and princess grow even closer and grow up as well. Arya navigates what it means to be a woman grown and what it means to want.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Gendry Waters, Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Sansa Stark/Willas Tyrell
Series: A Sprawling Metropolis [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1499717
Comments: 337
Kudos: 299





	1. King's Landing and Storm's End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has left so many lovely comments of encouragement during this long hiatus while I wrote this third installment to this story! They truly helped me stay motivated in getting my ideas out of my head and written down. Something I have been very nervous about in writing this has been maintaining the same tone as the other parts and whether I am still bringing to the story what was so well received in them. So, please, let me know if I am still hitting the mark or if I'm losing it!
> 
> My major theme in this section is Arya talking to other women and finding for herself what womanhood means and claiming it for her own in regards to her sexuality.

Autumnal winds blew across the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. The chills of the North reached icy fingers across the Neck and gripped with unyielding force before falling farther down and wisping along rivers and through the thickest brushes of the Kingswood. 

It had been six turns of the moon since the prince and princess of Westeros returned to the capital, and the white ravens of the Citadel flew to each great keep as the portents that they were. With preparations made and deals struck between kingdoms, the peoples of the land did all they could to ensure their survival in the impending winter.

During those six turns of the moon, Arya Stark and Gendry Baratheon immersed themselves in the dealings of the Small Council and the plights of their people. There were days the two woke before the sun and toiled in their efforts to bring growth and prosperity to their lands with the help of their advisors and Arya’s father, the Hand of the King. Gendry’s father, the King himself, was most effective when he was farthest away from the making of decisions. 

Arya Stark of Winterfell, future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, held herself to her father’s words: the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. 

As plans for the winter were made and set forth, Arya saw the great importance of their relationships with each of the kingdoms. As the Reach agreed to not inflate their prices for their grains and produce purchased by the North, Arya appreciated the effects of their alliance. Sansa had been married to their future Lord Paramount for near three months. She spoke highly of the man, Willas Tyrell, and had aided in negotiations of prices and taxes.

King Robert’s ineptitudes as a ruler soon become glaringly obvious to anyone who had had to sit in while he took petitions from his people. His solutions benefited no one, his deliberations on squabbles were without sense, and his boredom was evident and offensive. 

Arya and father slowly took over for him under the guise that they were rescuing him from such dreadfully tedious proceedings and that they were unburdening him.

Once they had fully taken over, he never once broached the subject of returning.

Early mornings henceforth occupied each of Arya and father’s days with petitions. They were followed with Arya passing father along to Gendry with a kiss on the cheek for each man so the two could attend the Small Council meetings. King Robert had begged off of those years prior and had not been asked to return. 

A noticeable improvement to the city was noticed after Gendry began his mentorship with father, though Gendry insisted he did little in the meetings besides listening.

The reason for this became apparent near five moons later. Gendry had been instrumental in lessening King Robert’s proffering of the royal coffers for lavish festivals and decadent feasts and therefore allowing for more money to go back to the people through improvement projects, with a simple trick.

“I lie to him.”

Arya and father sat in shock in father’s solar one night. 

“You do what, son?”

Gendry shrugged as he continued to eat his dinner.

“He’ll tell me all ‘bout some tourney or some other awful party or whatnot he wants to throw with all the trimmin’s, and I’ll say,” Gendry deadpanned, “ _Yes. We will plan that. Don’t you worry._ ” He took another bite of food and then smiled up at his wife and good father. “You give him some extra ale in the morning, and by the time he makes it to whatever half-arsed feast we’ve put together, he’s too past his cups to know up or down, let alone if there’s a hundred people or ten thousand. Or, he’ll do my favorite, which is to entirely forget he wanted the feast and we just don’t do it. That’s the best.”

Arya looked to father. He looked on at Gendry with a quiet pride. She did not think she had ever seen him look so openly impressed. 

It had never occurred to the honorable Lord Eddard Stark to simply lie.

Arya had no reservations in admitting how quietly impressive the idea was.

While they filled most days with civic duties and diligent endeavors, the prince and princess still found time for fun.

It was not an uncommon occurrence to find the two scurrying about in the tunnels under the Red Keep or wrestling in the hay of the stables after they became distracted during their preparations for a ride through the city.

They could both often be found in the library of the Red Keep.

Arya once sat at a table with her nose buried deep in a fascinating tome on the Age of Heroes. It detailed the most educated guesses from the highest maesters of the Citadel on what was for truth and what was fantasy grown from the ages. Arya preferred the awesomeness of the tales as they were, but she also found great wonder in the mortals who became myth.

Without looking up, she heard heavy, steady footfalls and the familiar squeak of a right boot approach her table.

The steps slowed as they come before her on the other side of the table. 

A breath was taken, but Arya whipped her head up and beat him to whatever he was going to say.

“Hello,” Arya smiled her quicksilver grin at her husband across the table.

Gendry smiled back and opened his mouth to try to speak again, but Arya interrupted him again.

“I knew it was you before I saw you,” she boasted.

Gendry reared his head back and floundered for a response.

Arya continued at his silence, “You have distinct footsteps.”

Gendry’s face morphed into good-natured offense. He closed his mouth and turned to return to the stacks of books and disappeared from sight.

Arya laughed to herself and continued reading.

Gendry abruptly reappeared at her side. “Do I really have heavy footsteps?” he asked.

Arya turned from her book to smile like the little shit she was being. His brow was furrowed, and she emphasized, “ _Distinct_.”

He let out a bark of laughter and shook his head at her.

She felt a bloom of pride in her chest. Or, something like pride. Regardless, it felt good sitting there in her chest.

He leaned to rest his arse on the table beside her instead of taking a seat and began to chat about the asinine, in his very honest opinion, pissing contests of the Small Council. He crossed his arms over his chest, straining the fabric of his doublet around his shoulders. Then, he released his arms to rest his large hands on the edge of the table beside his thighs, now straining the fabric across his chest.

She heard his words, but they did not seem to stick to her mind. They would slip off each time her eyes fell from his eyes to his lips.

She surprised herself with how much in those moments she felt an urge to lean across the small distance between them and press a kiss to his lips. 

Nothing ravenous or heated, just sweet and true. 

Her heart sang for it, and she could so clearly see herself doing so in her mind’s eyes. So clearly that she could almost feel his lips against hers even if they had never felt them before. She imagined the feel of the heat from his face so close to hers.

She thanked her graces that Gendry had worked himself up into a rant and had expected nothing else from her but to _hmm_ and nod. 

She wondered at how little he could notice her inner conflict. 

A kiss was just a kiss. Mothers and fathers kissed their children. Arya kissed Gendry’s cheek often, and he hers. It was all perfectly ordinary.

It was the intensity that did not sit well with her. It was new and strange and could not yet be reconciled.

So for now, she would continue to listen to Gendry’s gripes and let her feelings sit a little longer until they felt a little less like a betrayal of her control.

-

After half a year in King’s Landing, it was time to continue their emissary visits to more of their kingdoms. To rule their people well and to ensure they remained united, they needed to know their Lord Paramounts. Arya remembered her father telling her brothers that one cannot ask their people to die for someone they did not know, so she would make herself and Gendry known to their people. 

-

Their journey began a month after the celebration of Arya’s six and tenth name day. They rode with a procession for a week to Storm’s End, Gendry’s father’s ancestral home.

If Arya thought King’s Landing was humid, the stormlands were a swampy-hellscape created especially for her torture. 

Gendry seemed to thrive in the wet, muggy air. Each night, he would try to pull Arya close to him in their cot, but she would always push him away, lamenting the sweaty sticky messes they were. It was Gendry’s turn to laugh at her complaints of the terrain. He began to purposely roll too close to her at night just to make her push at him and gripe for more space to sweat to death in peace. He would feign sleep as he would cuddle her wriggling body closer to him. He did not mind the sweating half as much as she. By the time they reached Storm’s End, Arya had relented, letting Gendry pull her into his side with his fire-hot arm wrapped around her sweating shoulders.

There, they were met by his two uncles, Renly and Stannis Baratheon, the latter of whom had sailed from Dragonstone with his wife and daughter upon hearing that Gendry would be visiting the family’s seat. 

Arya and Gendry were already familiar with Renly as a member of the Small Council as the Master of Laws. While Gendry far preferred his Uncle Renly to his father, Gendry still did not particularly enjoy him. However, Renly found Gendry hilarious with his surly disposition and naturally frowning face, so Arya liked Renly very much. 

His Uncle Stannis made an immediate fiend of himself with Gendry. Before Gendry could open his mouth to greet his uncle, Stannis grabbed him by the jaw and stared at his face for several long, tense moments. Arya, Renly, and Stannis’ wife and daughter froze as Gendry stared back. The first words out of Stannis’ mouth upon meeting him were, “Half Robert, half lowborn.” 

Gendry’s eyes fluttered before steeling at his uncle. Stannis released his face and gave Arya and Renly each a curt nod in acknowledgment before he turned to leave with his wife following with her head held high. Once they were gone, all turned back to Gendry who still stared at the door. With one look at his face, Renly burst with laughter. 

“Oh, nephew dear. Please, do take no offense to your Uncle Stannis. That is simply his nature, as I am sure the lovely Shireen could also attest. I count us quite fortunate that he only spoke but four words to us. Let us pray to the Father that he speaks not a word more while you are here at Storm’s End. I do not wish him to spoil the stormlands for you.” Renly and Shireen led them from the welcoming room to their chambers for their stay.

Arya had to take hold of Gendry’s arm to direct him to follow his Uncle Renly as Gendry still had yet to recover, eyes still fluttering, from his apparently typical interaction with his Uncle Stannis. 

-

The dawn light brushed into their chambers and shone gray and dull their first morning in Storm’s End. It carried with it hot air from the south that wetted along its journey over the sea. It was thick in Arya’s lungs as she breathed in the morning. 

The rhythm of Gendry’s breaths almost lined up exactly with the crashing of the waves hundreds of feet below their windows. If ever she doubted his Baratheon blood, that alone would have affirmed the claim. 

The heavy air seemed to slow her thoughts and movements. As she burrowed deeper into the crevice between their plush bed and Gendry’s firm but pliant back, Arya relished in the syrupy feel of the stormlands. Time passed at its own pace, and Arya gave herself to it. At least while the air was only heated and not yet sweltering. This close to the water at certain times in the day, the thick air could be nice. She had been slowly adjusting her expectations of the climate. 

Just as Arya was almost to drift sweetly back to her slumber, Gendry leaned back unto her. She wriggled her way out from under his hulking form with her dignity not fully intact. 

Having not noticed the extreme distress he had just caused his dear wife in their own bed, Gendry slept away with heavy breaths through his nose.

Arya weighed her options and decided she would rather rejoin her husband for another hour or so of sleep than bring about any justice at this time for her near-crushening. Maneuvering to his side and slipping his arm behind her shoulders and around her waist rewarded her with the type of heat she liked most and a firm reassuring squeeze from Gendry, even in his sleep. With eyes closing from sleep heavy lids, Arya cushioned her head on Gendry’s plush tit and relaxed into his side, hitching her leg over his middle.

As her leg swung its course, there was a snag and a groan. Arya’s eyes opened reluctantly to assuage her curiosity for what firm yet yielding object kept her leg’s intended path. 

Something tented Gendry’s linens. 

Gendry tented Gendry’s linens.

It should not have surprised her as it had. She had felt it pressed against her before, particularly during their travels in the far North.

Back then, she had no strong feelings for it in any particular way beside a small dread at what the act it represented would one day entail. This morning, it simply was. 

It was, and she could not take her eyes from it.

A penetrating curiosity overtook her thoughts of sleep, spiriting away her will to turn away and allow Gendry his modesty while he slept.

The sight did not fill her with dread as she feared it would. Instead, she simply pondered at its seeming insistence, so contrary to Gendry’s own resistance.

She knew she _ought_ to look away, but the strangeness was so novel. The race of her heart and the warmth in her belly picked up. Oh, how she wished she could put into words what she felt. Was there any word that could describe her distraught toil at _want_ and _not want_? She should voice her worries to Gendry. She knew he would listen and understand. Yet, at the thought of broaching the topic of their coupling, not in jest but in truth, actionable truth, the warm flutter in her belly turned to weighty dread. She buried her face in Gendry’s shoulder and groaned out her frustrations. 

This woke the man, who jolted in concern. 

When Arya affirmed that she was indeed safe and simply bored without him awake with her, Gendry soothed a heavy hand over her hair as he slipped easily back to his dreams. Stupid Gendry and his stupid large body with his stupid tented trousers and stupid warm limbs. She wondered sometimes if he was more trouble than he was worth, churning up her insides and her mind. 

-

Gendry found a dear companion in his cousin, Shireen. During one of their first interactions, Gendry mentioned his unfinished apprenticeship to an armorer. Shireen took great interest in this. She spent the next week reading every book she could find in Storm’s End about smithing. From those books, she picked the ones she felt would be of most interest to Gendry. He confided in her that while he did know his letters and could read well enough, it was still painstaking work and so very slow.

Shireen then took it upon herself to help him practice and to chastise him every morning that he did not finish certain sections of books she had specifically told him to finish before he slept. He would grumble those mornings as he got to work on his reading, but Arya knew he loved the attention and care Shireen gave him.

-

Gendry also found a friend in Ser Davos Seaworth, a fellow bastard of Flea Bottom. The two had a rocky start, as Gendry did with most nobles he met. As the two spoke of their difficult upbringings and their appreciation of the opportunities their new stations brought for the lives they could give to their children, Davos and Gendry began to act more like father and son rather than the near-strangers they were. 

They were able to meet one of his actual sons. Gendry and Devan did not exactly have much in common, but the two enjoyed many long silences together. Arya did not fully understand their relationship but chose to not inquire further. 

She sparred with Devan in the training yard when they could. As he was adept with a sword, Arya was grateful for the challenge. She and Gendry would occasionally spar together, her with her needle and him with his war hammer he made himself after they had returned from Winterfell. She found it good practice to find ways around larger enemies with much larger weapons, and he learned how to become nimbler to avoid small enemies with even smaller weapons. 

However, a decent sparring partner with a sword was hard to find while traveling. 

She and Devon enjoyed many mornings practicing their steps and swipes, some of which were joined by Gendry who would cheer them on. 

After particularly satisfying victories, he would hoot with great energy and fun for her. Arya would race to where he leaned on the fences, climb up the first rung, and plant a sweaty kiss to his cheek. He would take hold of her legs from over the fence, lift her high against his chest, and parade her around the training yard as they both cheered raucously, howling and jeering Devon, who would watch them with first stone-faced resignation and then melt into reluctant bemusement. 

When their joking would go on too long in Devon’s opinion, he would call Arya to resume their training. 

Before he would put her down, Gendry would look up, half out of breath from their antics, and smile broadly at Arya who laughed at the way Gendry would then try to refrain from grimacing as her sweat would fall into his face. 

Once on her feet and with renewed rigor, Arya would return to Devon. She almost always lost that next match, too excited and sloppy with her mirth. Gendry would still hoot the loss as well, sometimes jumping the fence to lift Arya from the ground unto his shoulder, parading her around the yard with equal pride and merriment as before. She would raise and flex her arms above her head as if the champion of a tournament of mighty warriors and not the loser of a single spar, Gendry whooping obnoxiously and raising his other arm in a similar fashion.

Devon would usually leave unnoticed during that second, and unearned, victory lap. 

Those were her favorite mornings in Storm’s End.

-

Though distinctly less fun, Arya greatly enjoyed taking petitions in the stormlands. The Stormlanders had such very different but also so very similar troubles to those in the other kingdoms they had visited thus far. They worried about food supplies come winter and shipping trade. Their obstacles were what differed and fascinated Arya. This past year had yielded far greater rains than was usual even for the stormlands. Many farmers had not been able to till their land when it was only mud, and the seeds they would plant had washed away from the soil every time they tried to plant them. The stormlands relied more heavily on their trade with Essos for their supplies in the winter rather than from the Reach. 

Farmers, villagers, and tradesmen came to Storm’s End to ask Renly for help or advice. She regularly and Gendry occasionally sat with him and learned all they could of the kingdom’s needs. 

Arya admitted only to Gendry that, while Renly was very generous with his people and anything they needed, his advice and solutions had not been the wisest she had experienced. Gendry agreed and figured it was likely from a similar problem as King Robert’s: these men were far too detached from their people and their livelihoods. They were grateful Renly at least had a decent heart that wanted the best for his people even if he did not always know what that was.

-

In the evenings, Arya and Gendry walked along the cliffs or battlements of the castle as the beaches were too dangerous to enjoy leisurely during autumn. The salty spray of the seawater splashed up the hundreds of feet to reach them, whipping at their faces. It was invigorating in a way that made Arya understand why the stormlanders were tough but proud, similar to the Northerners. They took pride in surviving such inhospitable lands.

Arya still did not enjoy the ever wet air, while Gendry seemed to be thriving in it. He teased nearly every day as she would pant and sweat in the too thick air. He told her he never realized how dry his chest had always been until he had taken his first breath in the stormlands. He said he was born to breathe this air, and Arya did not disagree. 

-

Poor Gendry’s excuses to leave any room Stannis was in grew flimsier with each one until finally, Gendry would simply bolt from a room as if he had heard his name called. Arya did not blame her husband for his open displeasure at his uncle. In nearly every conversation, Stannis would mention Gendry’s low birth or how as the next true born Baratheon in line, he should have been made king before Gendry. 

At night, Gendry would confide in Arya that almost two years ago, he may have agreed. However, since then, he had grown to love his life with Arya and he never would have even known her if he had not been ripped from his forge and thrown into fine silks. He also looked forward to being able to help the people of Westeros. Competent and caring rulers truly could impact the lives of the people in a positive way that he wanted to bring for them with Arya.

Nearly two years ago, Arya had dreaded this life. She was married off to a man she did not know to be his lady and bare his children at his discretion while she wore dresses that squeezed the life from her. Except so far, none of those fears came true. She had been able to know the man she brought before her family’s heart tree; he did not impose upon her any expectations of what a lady was to do, in court or in their marriage bed. 

On these nights, Arya put up no fight when Gendry would pull her to him in the sticky wet air of the stormlands. The breeze from the sea blew into their chambers, cool against their sweaty skin. She rested her head on his chest and listened to his heart beat a lullaby only Gendry had for her. 

-

Quickly enough, despite how much they both enjoyed the company of Shireen Baratheon and how much Arya enjoyed how much Renly enjoyed how much Gendry did not enjoy Stannis and his wife, their month in Storm’s End came to an end.

Some goodbyes were teary and difficult. Others likely would have been better left undone.

-

For the entirety of the ship’s journey around Cape Wrath and through the Stepstones to Dorne, if Arya found Gendry with his back turned, she would jest that she mistook him for his Uncle Renly, as they looked so very alike. The similarities in looks brought greater contrast to their differing humors. 

While in Storm’s End, this confusion would happen for true often with any and all servants in the castle nearly every day as Renly and Gendry went about their businesses. It drove Gendry up a wall almost as much as his Uncle Stannis’ lingering stare. 

Arya felt remiss to not continue the habit once they left.

He threatened to throw her off the boat on the fourth day at sea. 

-

Their voyage by sea was short but dreadful for poor Gendry. While Arya basked in the salty air and the brisk mornings, Gendry spent the first few days retching over the side of the ship. On the first night Gendry was able to join her in bed with good spirits, Arya relished in being able to once again hold her husband in the night. 

Their tiniest cot yet was situated in the corner of their cabin, Arya pressed between the wall and Gendry’s expansive back as they slotted together to fit with any semblance of ease.

With his frequent trips back out to the rail, she had missed the heavy closeness the two found when they would sink into whatever bed they had that night. 

He spoke softly into the tight space of the cabin, lit only by the moonlight coming through the bull’s eye window.

He told her the stories Shireen shared with him, tales of their ancestors.

She played with the hair that ran along his ears as he regaled her with the legends of Elenei and Argella, the first and last Storm Queens.

“You would have made an excellent Storm King, I’d wager,” Arya mused.

He made a thoughtful sound. “But, do I have enough fury?”

“More than plenty,” she chuckled to herself.

“Oi!” he laughed and turned his head slightly to eye her with good humor. 

Arya playfully slapped her hand over his face and smooshed it. 

In turn, he laid back fully on top of her.

"You're crushing me!"

"Oh, am I crushing you?" He laid heavier on her.

"Yes, you are! You are crushing me!" She laughed and pushed his shoulder fruitlessly. 

"My mistake, m'lady." He laid his weight completely on top of her. 

She maneuvered to wrap her arms and legs around him trying to squeeze him into submission, but he laughed harder. In retaliation, she bit his ear hard enough to hurt but not enough to break the skin. 

He yelped and tried to sit up, but she pulled him back down on top of her. 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she laughed. 

When he relaxed back on top of her with only a few grumbles, she leaned up again this time to pull his ear into her mouth to soothe her bite. She sucked on it with the soft inner flesh of her lips, laving at her bite marks with her tongue. 

At first, Gendry's entire body melted atop her, and she felt him let out a long heavy breath before he tensed completely and rolled suddenly from her arms.

"I apologized for biting you! Don’t be mad!" she exclaimed, put out.

Gendry now laid face down on his side of their cot, entirely unresponsive to her halfhearted swats to his shoulders. 

Arya rolled her eyes to herself and wriggled to attempt to make room for herself in the far more limited space now that Gendry took up nearly all the space and pushed her even more against the wall of the cabin as he ignored her. This would not do.

"May I still hold you as we sleep tonight?" She asked, voice conveying how silly she thought this all was.

After a long moment, he let out a small, muffled, "Yes."

Arya sighed and draped herself over her seemingly broken husband. She could not seem to manage to coordinate her body along his in this position. She ended up sleeping half across his back with her head just beside his with her nose pressed against the hair behind his ear. 

Come morning, the two had shifted in the night so that they lay curled toward one another, knees pressed together with hips and chests apart but noses grazing. While they touched less in this position than they would have any other night, it felt more intimate to be so close to his face. 

Arya could count on one hand the number of times she had been this close to Gendry's face just to look, though this had been occurring with far greater frequency since the first time at their wedding in Winterfell. Arya nuzzled her nose feather-light against Gendry's. Even with sleep blurry eyes, Arya could see that, while still deeply asleep, Gendry's lips curled up.


	2. Dorne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the hot Dornish sun, bloods warm up. For better or worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are the loveliest readers and leave the kindest comments! Thank you so much! I am so so so so happy the last chapter was well received. This was my favorite to write, so I hope you all enjoy it as much as well! It is twice as long as most chapters I write, but I couldn't find a good place to break it up that wouldn't make one half too short, so enjoy!!!

They reached Sunspear on the seventh day of their sea voyage. The water in the port was nearly as clear as the air, so unlike the water of Blackwater Bay as the name would imply. Arya delighted in peering down into the depths of the harbor as they sailed toward land, only able to tear her eyes from the sea at the sight of the magnificent architecture of the city so impossibly different from anything she had ever seen. Against the yellow backdrop of the iconic sands of Dorne, the vibrantly colored buildings stood out like proud colorful birds. The outer walls of the city stood tall and yet still inviting. Arya could just see the Threefold Gate that would lead them straight to the Old Palace and to the Martells who awaited their arrival. Arya relished in the excitement to explore this new city, this new world really.

Gendry came up beside her at the edge of the helm of the ship, sweating profusely already but smiling nonetheless at the beautiful sight before them.

After taking in one last long look at the approaching horizon, Arya turned to Gendry to find him already looking down at her. His expression was unbearably soft, and she could not help but smile back at him. 

_What an adventure we have found_ , she thought to herself. 

Arya took hold of Gendry’s hand and dragged him from the rail. “Come! We must prepare for our departure,” she told him as he squeezed her hand back, and they made their way to their cabin in the ship. 

They had already packed away the few possessions they had used in the small space, but Gendry did not seem to mind her insistence.

-

Even still so close to the sea, the Dornish air was dry and it parched Arya’s throat. The radiating warmth of the sun reddened her skin in the most delightfully painful way. No aspect of the climate could be compared to that of the North, yet Arya found herself savoring in it just as well. After enduring the sweltering heat of the Stormlands for a month, Arya took quickly to the arid land and the intensity of its heat.

At the Old Palace entrance, the captain of the palace guard, Areo Hotah, greeted Arya, Gendry, and their party. He ushered them to follow him threw the magnificent doors that were so tall that Arya had to drop her head back on her neck to see the top. Gendry knocked his elbow to her arm to remind her of her manners, which had her rolling her eyes. 

Arya righted herself, and the party followed the captain through equally splendid halls and passages covered in rich colors and stunning works of art inlaid into the walls themselves with small pieces of glass and stone and mortar. The sunlight slanting in through the windows high on the walls cast a shimmering heat on the stones and shone even more colors than Arya thought existed.

The energy of the party intensified as they neared the room which presumably held the Martell family as Arya visibly buzzed with anticipation. In a few short steps, she was to meet the decedents of Nymeria of the Rhoyne. She hoped they knew more of the woman than what the history books told. To hear about the Warrior Queen from the people who would presumably love her the most and have kept the best parts of her tales sacred and deep would be most glorious indeed.

She recalled her musings as she stood atop the Wall with Jon and Gendry. She could only conjure images of endless sand when she drew together pictures of Dorne in her mind’s eye. Now, as palace guards brought her and Gendry to where the Martells were awaiting their arrival, Arya found herself proven wrong in the most delightful of ways. Yes, Dorne so clearly had sand, oh so much sand, as was evident as they sailed along the coast and was more than abundant around and throughout the city of Sunspear. However, only a few short hours from when their ship docked, they disembarked, and they traversed the city to the palace, Arya was only beginning to understand what wonders the Kingdom of Dorne had to offer.

The captain and the party arrived at a more modest set of doors than the palace entrance, though the intricate carvings and delicate metalwork inlaid into it belied its magnificence in its own right. Two palace guards who dressed in flowing, shimmering fabrics and supple-looking leathers stepped forward and opened the two large doors that reached the ceiling.

Bright sunlight flooded Arya’s vision. As her eyes adjusted, she saw two figures in the half-hall, half-courtyard awaiting them as they entered and approached.

A young, curvaceous Dornish woman caught Arya’s eye first. She stood proudly beside Prince Doran Martell, seated in his wheeled chair. Arya and Gendry had met Prince Doran nearly two years prior when King Robert had summoned him to swear fealty to the newly legitimized Prince Gendry and to attend their wedding. 

Prince Doran appeared then as he did here, frail of body but strong of spirit. 

He smiled warmly at the couple as they approached the man and the woman. The walls of the room were no walls at all but instead rather large windows that opened to a courtyard overflowing with exotic plants and sunlight and several birds Arya had never seen before.

The two Martells seemed to glow in the sunlight.

“Welcome to Dorne. Welcome to Sunspear,” Prince Doran said with feeling. “It is our great pleasure to have you with us for the next month. As the future King and Queen of Westeros, we hope you find your stay joyous and filled with new friendships.” He lifted his arm with apparent dis-ease to the woman beside him. “This is my daughter Arianne. She will rule Dorne when I am passed, and I wish for you all to become acquainted during your time with us.”

Princess Arianne’s full lips curled up at Arya and Gendry, but the smile did not reach her eyes, which were sharp and evaluating on Gendry. She turned her whole body to Arya. “I have heard many and wonderful things about you, Princess Arya,” she spoke like a warm breeze. “I look forward to hearing of your journey. Both to Dorne and to your crown.”

Arya felt her own lips curl up at the woman’s fire and beauty. 

Arya spared a glance at Gendry. With his pinched expression becoming slightly less pinched, he seemed relieved to not have to be responsible for this exchange of political pleasantries.

“We look forward to a wonderful visit in your kingdom,” Arya replied in the diplomatic voice she had been honing for ages and hoping she sounded as important as she wanted to sound. “From what we have heard, one turn of the moon shall not be long enough by far to truly enjoy the beauty and warmth of your sand and sun. With winter soon upon the kingdoms above, let us make the most of our time together.”

Princess Arianne bowed her head in apparent agreement but did not speak further as Prince Doran nodded his head as well. He motioned for a servant to join them. “With pleasantries finished, let us take rest. I am sure you and your men and women are tired from your long journey to our home.” A tall, overly muscular man with skin tinged with even more color than the Martells and in billowing yellow clothes approached to wheel him from the room. “My men will show you to your chambers and then you must join us for refreshments and some sunlight for your fair skin,” he said as the servant turned his wheeled chair and the group moved together to leave the hall and head to their respective rooms.

Arya caught the glint in the older man’s eyes and smirked at him. “We in the North have grown to live with little from the sun, Prince Doran.”

“Yes, but do you thrive?”

Arya barked a laugh at the man’s teasing. He spoke with not only formality but also familiarity that put her at ease. “We shall see how I fare in your kingdom after this moon’s turn. I will tell you then if I find that I _thrive_ in your Dornish sun,” she lilted.

Prince Doran slipped her a sly smile and a wink. “It is all I ask, Princess Arya,” he said.

At the fork in the corridor, the Martells went left and the guards directed Arya and Gendry to the right.

-

At their chambers, Arya and Gendry found Dornish clothes they had been gifted from the Martell family. While initially hesitant of the thin swaths of cloth and gauzy materials, the two found the clothes extremely breathable in the oppressive heat. The clothes they had arrived in were the thick wools and leathers customary of the Crownlands and the Stormlands that even there were stifling and restricting in the wet air.

Once in her new clothes, with the aid of several Dornish handmaidens, Arya began to flit about the room with newfound agility and mobility of movement.

Gendry laughed deep from his belly as Arya bounded swiftly from behind him and swatted at his head as she passed him, vaulted onto their bed to cross it, and then leaped back off it. When she righted herself, she turned to Gendry with a smile so wide it felt as if it might split her face in two. 

“I take it you like these Dornish fashions?” Gendry asked as a handmaiden positioned his garments correctly. “Thank you,” he spoke quietly as she finished and stepped away.

“I do. Greatly,” Arya responded and smiled to the handmaidens who all smiled back, seemingly enjoying her enthusiasm for their fashions. She continued her tests of the new clothes by practicing her Water Dancing with an imaginary sword as her Needle was still packed away.

From the corner of her eye, she watched Gendry swing his arms in wide circles and then flex them, turning his torso this way and that. She stopped her dancing and swallowed. The handmaidens watched as well.

“I feel too bare,” Gendry complained, pulling his lapels closer together with no success at covering his newly exposed chest.

“You look good. I mean, the clothes look finely made.” Arya stopped herself before she said more. 

Thankfully, Gendry did not seem to notice her blush at his chest and how she could not manage to stop tracing the lines of his flexing muscles. Neither did he notice the handmaidens looking very determinedly at their hands or the ceiling and anywhere but at this high lord, the future king of Westeros strain and pull his muscles in the newfound comfort of his draping Dornish clothes. Arya had seen his chest many times before as he changed or bathed in their chambers. He had seen hers, of course, briefly and perfunctorily. 

She had seen his chest, but she had not looked. Not like this.

Arya really liked Dorne so far.

-

They were escorted to a different yet equally stunning courtyard than they had seen earlier and were met with more of the Martell family.

As they approached the family, they all stood from the pillowed cushions they had been using as seats in the garden.

One by one, the Martells greeted them with a hug and a kiss to each cheek, introducing themselves as they went: Quentyn, Trystane, Oberyn, Allaria Sand. Even Princess Arianne and Prince Doran greeted them as warmly as old friends reuniting as if they had not seen them just an hour past.

Arya could tell Gendry floundered from the familiarity, unaccustomed to the closeness of strangers. She, however, felt flush from it. So pleased by the feeling of welcome and family that she missed while being so far from Winterfell. The Stormlands had been pleasant after a fashion, but the immediate and genuine warmth from the Martells brought a delight to Arya that she had not felt since she had last been in Winterfell.

-

That night, Arya and Gendry settled into bed, exhausted from their travels and meeting so many new people and having to act the royal couple for hours upon hours.

Gendry turned onto his side, and Arya took her place at his back, curling into position and enjoying the contrast of the cool breeze at her back and Gendry’s warm body at her front.

Her arm slid under his to take its place on his chest so she could feel his heartbeat as she fell asleep. This time was different, however, as Gendry wore not his usual sleeping tunic but an even lighter slip of a thing given to him by the Martells. The deep slit in the front went halfway to his naval, flowing loosely on his torso and soft on her face. 

As it was, the now rather opened front of his tunic left Arya’s hand to rest on Gendry’s bare chest. 

The exposed hair there tingled pleasantly against her skin, sending tiny shivers up her spine similar to the ones she would get after letting her hair down after having to keep it up in some silly style all the day.

She scritched her nails on his chest and he hummed. Arya ran her hand down as far as it would go, dipping only the tips of her fingers below the hem of his shirt and making him hum again. The reverberations from his noises went straight through her, prompting her to press her chest harder against him.

She grazed her hand back up, and Gendry let out a sigh and said, “That feels nice.”

Gendry allowing her to touch him so intimately surprised Arya, since he had feigned from far less intimate acts many times before. She wondered what about this was different for him when the warmth it filled her with was just the same for her. She felt as she had those nights in the North, traveling to and from the Wall. Heated by something she did not know and feared as much as she wanted. 

As Arya continued to graze her fingertips through the sparse smattering of Gendry’s chest hair to his contented sounds, she still felt that fear niggling at her. Though as she thought on it, the wanting of whatever this feeling was now outweighed that fear. The warmth in her chest and cheeks and the strange pulling sensation in her stomach that made her thighs squeeze tight together against her accord set her head swirling. 

For once Gendry laid soft and happy and unbothered, while Arya toiled with whatever this nonsense was. 

-

A few days later, Arya, Gendry, Arianne, and Trystane traveled to the Water Gardens. Oberyn, Ellaria Sand, and Quentyn were to join them a few days after. 

Once there, Arianne told them that, while splendid during any season, the Water Gardens were particularly enjoyable in Autumn with its hot days and cool nights. 

This was immediately apparent upon the evening of their arrival. As Arya and Gendry settled into their chambers of the private quarters of House Martell, the cool breeze soothed away the radiating heat captured in the stones of the palace from the sun of the day.

That night, a warm breeze flowed through their borrowed chambers. If they could be called chambers when two of the four walls were open to a lush, private courtyard with pillars interspersed. Huge swaths of colorful cloths did their best to provide an illusion of privacy to the night sky as they billowed and puffed on the breeze.

As had been their habit since their time in the North, Arya and Gendry prepared for bed with little embarrassment for their brief nudity or cleansing nightly rituals. 

Arya would use a wet cloth between her legs to wash away unpleasant accumulations of sweat from the sweltering day, while Gendry would relieve himself in the brass pot in the far corner of the room with a great, deep sigh of relief. Then, they would switch.

While their bed at Sunspear had been more similar to the traditional ones of the other six kingdoms, their bed now was more similar to one large pillow upon the ground with an abundance of smaller pillows and layers of sheets of many materials. Instead of a canopy over it, more swaths of cloth crisscrossed the ceiling creating a softness to the room and put Arya at ease despite the vulnerability the open walls inspired.

With the air cool but not too chilled, Gendry turned down the bed, leaving just a thin silk sheet to cover them in the night. 

He slid into his side, and Arya put out the candles and followed. Gendry laid upon his back with his arm extended for her as it often did. She felt warm at the thought and tucked herself into his side, nuzzling her face against the now-familiar soft material of his Dornish sleeping shirt with the deep slit in the front, revealing much of his chest. She had yet to grow accustomed to the slick feel of the shirt compared to the plush softness of his usual cotton, though she did enjoy it.

Gendry laughed sleepily, exhausted like her from their travels. “Stop your wigglin’. I know you’re swift like a cat, but this is too much.” The arm around her tightened, pulling her more onto his chest.

Arya laughed with him and ceased her movements, hiking her leg up onto his and laying her palm flat with her fingers spread on his exposed chest. The hair there tickled the flesh of her hand. She let out a contented sigh and spoke, “Dorne has been so wonderful already, has it not?” She looked up at him to find him already gazing down at her with soft, sleepy eyes in the moonlight that filtered in from the wide windows of their room.

“Aye, it ‘as.” The hand not wrapped around Arya came up to brush back the hair from her face that had fallen from her nightly plait.

Arya closed her eyes at the gentle pleasantness that washed over her at the motion. She felt Gendry lean down and press his lips to her hairline. She smiled and melted against him. 

Arya rose and fell as Gendry took in a deep breath and let it out before they both fell asleep to the sound of the waves of the Summer Sea crashing on the nearby beach and the steady rhythms of each other’s breaths. 

-

In the morning, Arianne came to collect them and provide them with clothes they could wear in the gardens. They were thin shirts and pants with a simple drawstring strung through them. After changing into their swimming costumes, Arianne led them to the Water Gardens.

Arya gasped as her eyes adjusted from the hallway to the open-aired gardens with the bright sun high in the sky. 

The only point of comparison Arya had for the Water Gardens would have been the hot springs in Winterfell, and still they were so very different. 

The green foliage could be seen at every turn and in every crevice, creating a sense of calm Arya had only ever felt after a fresh snow in the North. The still, pristine waters sang to Arya, promising a cool refuge from the fierce heat already creating pools of sweat at her brow and under her arms.

Deeper in the gardens, the cries of children’s laughter could be heard, and it brought a smile to Arya’s face.

She looked up to Arianne, who smiled down at Arya and tilted her head toward the water.

Arya took hold of Gendry’s hand and rushed to the closest cove of water, dragging a protesting Gendry behind her.

She let out a squeal of delight as she leaped into the warm but refreshing water. Holding tight to Gendry’s hand as she held herself under, Arya let out all the air in her lungs that came out as giant bubbles that felt funny against her face.

She braced her feet against the bottom of the pool and burst through the surface. She turned to find Gendry already standing beside her, dripping wet and clearly trying very hard to not smile at her. He finally gave up and smiled wide after a few petulant splashes from Arya. How could one stay mad when all focus was needed on retaliation?

Their splashing and laughter attracted the attention of the children they had heard earlier. 

With guile to which Arya was unaccustomed but impressed, the children immediately inserted themselves into their game. Far more hesitant at first, Gendry resisted too much roughhousing. However, as the older of the children began to climb him as if he was the most fun tree they had ever encountered, Gendry started to pick off each child from himself and throw them bodily into deeper waters. 

Unfortunately for him, the children were ecstatic from this development and climbed him with greater fervor. Fortunately for him, he seemed to find himself enjoying it as well.

Arya waded too near the commotion. 

Gendry gripped her by the waist, and in a swift motion, he pulled her from the water and into the air. Before he could swing his big arms to toss her, Arya wriggled in his hold and managed to snag a handful of his shirt in her fist. 

Gendry attempted to shake her from her hold but only succeeded in making her and the children laugh as the water around his legs splashed.

He ceased his shaking, and Arya took the opportunity to snake her arms around his neck. As she pulled her body closer, she wrapped her legs around his middle and shrieked in mirth as the children around them began climbing them both. 

Gendry’s solution was to sink into the water, laying sunk on the bottom of the pool and waiting until all who grabbed him released from him. Arya stood waiting for him above the water, splashing him mercilessly as he took his first breath of air. He retaliated blindly. 

\- 

Arya spotted Arianne nearby at the edge of the cove, arms resting wide around her along the lip of the pool. Arya figured now would be an ideal opportunity to speak to Arianne and attempt to forge those friendships of which Prince Doran had spoken when they met.

Arya waded her way to join her. She took notice of the other Dornish nobles trickling into the Water Gardens for the morning, particularly their varying stages of undress.

Taking a seat in the water beside Arianne, Arya wondered aloud, “We seem to be far more dressed than the other patrons of these Gardens.”

Arianne smiled at her good-naturedly. “For your comfort, Princess,” she explained. “We understand we Dornishmen are more free with our bodies and our love than those of other kingdoms. I thought you and your husband would prefer the option of modesty while here.”

Arya nodded, looking around the pools at the ease with which the Dornishmen, men and women and children, bathed and lounged and conversed with chests and legs bare. She pulled her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around her shins. “If you wish to put me at ease, please, call me Arya.” Arianne dipped her head in acquiescence and smiled. Arya asked, “Would you normally be clothed like this as well?”

Arianne laughed full and happy. “No, sweet child. I do so love the feel of the sun upon my teats and the cool of the water through the slit between my legs.” Arya felt herself blush at the woman’s candor. “However, I care for your comfort and wished not to offend you both with something so simple as my body.”

“We would not have been offended,” Arya defended.

“Maybe so, but you would not have been quick to relax and enjoy the Gardens as they are meant to be. I am your host here, and I wish for nothing but your happiness in my family’s homes.” Arianne smiled at Arya gently.

Arya smiled back. She then dropped her head back to dip her hair in the water, enjoying the sensation on her scalp and the sun on her face.

“Come,” said Arianne as she stood from the water. “Let us enjoy the warmth of the sun more fully.”

Arya stood and followed Arianne from the pool and toward plush cushions surrounded by lush greenery and with an easy view of Gendry with the children, playing and laughing and joyful.

They settled into the cushions. Arya leaned her head back again to bask her face and neck and chest in the midday sun. The warmth sent a pleasant sensation through her body. Her limbs stretched out around her, seeking more heat and warmth by instinct like a flower opening to its morning sun.

Arya opened her eyes and turned to Arianne beside her, her ease dissipated as she watched Arianne’s lips purse and her eyes slide from Gendry to Arya and back again.

Arianne’s brows pulled together and her lips moved as if to speak a thought but no words came out.

Arianne turned her whole body to Arya.

“In Dorne, we are more free with sex,” Arianne stated. “We do not shun our women for wanting, and our men do not take without permission. And, in Dorne, we do not hurt little girls,” Arianne did not take her eyes from Arya’s.

Arya tried to keep her face as passive as possible until she could suss out what Arianne was not saying.

“How old are you now, Arya?” Arianne asked.

Arya swallowed. “Six and ten,” she answered.

“How old were you when you married your Gendry?” Arianne asked. “He was a man grown at the time, yes?”

A familiar mixture of dread and relief filled her. Arianne did not like that Gendry had wedded and bedded such a young bride, likely against her preference. These interactions never got easier.

“He has been good to me. He is my best friend before anything else,” Arya said in answer to Arianne’s real question. She did her best to speak only truths when faced with this troublesome situation.

Arianne turned back to Gendry playing with the children with a few scattered parents smiling on at him. She tipped her head from side to side in thought and then turned back to Arya with narrowed, wondering eyes.

“He does not treat you as a man does a woman with whom he has lain,” Arianne observed.

“It was only once.” Arya lied. “To seal the marriage.” 

Arianne looked at her hard, unblinking. 

Arya held her gaze, refusing to wither under the older woman’s stare. Arya was to be her queen one day. She did not want the woman’s impression of her to be that of someone who could be intimidated. 

Arianne’s expression softened into one of uncertainty. Though, it seemed to be directed more inward than at Arya.

Arianne sat back in her seat and broke her stare to look over at Gendry playing with the children in the water. 

“Do you know how Dorne became part of the Seven Kingdoms?” Arianne asked airily.

“You were not conquered?”

Arianne smiled, “We chose to ally ourselves, and we can choose to end that allegiance as well. Our peace depends on that truth. That choice for Dorne.”

Arya tensed, waiting for Arianne to continue.

“When the current King of the Seven Kingdoms took his throne, his armies brutally raped and murdered my aunt and her children. While I never met my aunt, such things cannot be forgiven. They cannot be forgotten. I believe you in the North have words for this.”

“ _The North remembers_ ,” Arya said quietly.

Arianne nodded still looking at the waters, her face and tone impassive but her dark eyes intense. “We in Dorne have no love for this king. We in Dorne, however, see much farther than those in the rest of the six kingdoms.” She looked back at Arya, her tone still airy but her eyes blazing. “We see that this king drinks and whores himself, rushing to his death. We see that the next king is fast approaching.” She held the moment. “We see his queen and how he treats her.” She smiled at Arya, genuine and soft. “I have found that you can learn a great deal about a man by how he treats his wife. You say he is good to you, and I believe you.”

Arya opened her mouth to speak. Speak what? She did not know, but she was interrupted by Arianne.

“You don’t seem to regard each other as two who have lain together,” she reiterated. “Even once.” 

Was this an accusation or a question? Was she so sure that Arya could not convince her otherwise?

“I do not believe you have at all.” She concluded softly. 

“We have,” Arya said hard. She needed to stop this. In the eyes of the highborns who would have loved to vie for his crown, their union was all that gave credence to Gendry’s claim despite his lowborn beginnings. An unconsummated marriage could be called into question. It was an opportunity to take them down.

“You have not,” Arianne said more firmly. Nodding her head once to herself. 

“Don’t say that.” Arya surprised herself with how her voice broke. She was supposed to stay strong in front of this woman, not crack under such light scrutiny.

This was their secret, and was it so obvious to anyone who looked at them? What were they doing that gave them away? How did lovers act that they did not? 

Arianne ran a soothing hand over Arya’s drying hair, shushing her. “Sweet girl, it is nothing.” 

“It is not nothing! You cannot say that. It is too dangerous!” 

Arianne asked with a laugh, “It is too dangerous to have a future king who would not harm his queen?” 

“I could be taken from him for another more ambitious woman in my stead. He could lose the throne. We could lose our heads for lying. Please, do not speak of such things you do not know!” 

Should she run to him now? Have him take her there and then in front of the Dornishmen to prove their marriage and the alliance between House Stark and House Baratheon? Was she ready? Could she ever be ready to commit such an act in front of so many? Would Gendry even allow for such a thing? Why had she allowed herself to be so stupid and risk so much? For what? For her maidenhead to stay intact and to stay hers for a little longer? Was that worth their lives? The Seven Kingdoms?

Arianne wrapped an arm around Arya’s shaking shoulders and jostled her to herself, tucking Arya’s head under her chin. 

“You are much, sweet girl,” she said above her. “And, I am much as well. Do not think so low of me as to condemn a man for not hurting a girl.”

Arya craned her neck to meet the woman’s eyes. “You will not tell?” She asked with an open hope she wished she could temper. 

“I have had many lovers, young Arya. My first man, I was younger than you were when you married, but it was my choice. I wanted and had known him for many years. I wish the same for you.”

“Princess Arianne—”

“If you wish to not be called by ‘princess’ then you must not call me by such as well.”

“Arianne—” Arya tried again.

“You look so frightened still, young one. I believe you have misunderstood me,” Arianne told her gently.

Arya could feel the worry on her face and in her jittering hands. There was no misunderstanding the danger this incendiary information in the hands of another could bode for her and Gendry. Particularly the heir to a kingdom. A kingdom in recent history that is unhappy with the crown.

“I mean to say, you and your Gendry are not as I assumed. Dorne wishes to have more power and influence on the Iron Throne, but we are not so foolish as to interrupt the natural flow of the world when it seems to be moving in our favor on its own.”

This did not assuage Arya’s fear in the slightest.

Arianne laughed loud and boisterously, garnering Gendry’s attention from the water. Arya gave him a small wave and smile. He returned the gesture happily before picking up a child and throwing them several feet away into the water, shrieking in delight the entire flight.

“Oh, you poor child. As I said, we see that King Robert runs to his grave and that you and Prince Gendry will soon be on the Iron Throne. You and he have impressed me in your time here. I admit that I feared he would be as vile as the All-Lannister-Prince, but it seems it was not King Robert’s blood that tainted the boy but his ruinous fatherhood. With how highly your Gendry speaks of your father, Lord Eddard Stark, and how little he speaks of his own father, I would surmise that he takes far greater mentorship from your father. And, you!” Arianne gestured at Arya with her other hand, her many bangles tinkling against each other from the movement. Arya felt her brow go up at Arianne’s open expression. “You ride our horses with an open heart and stand tall without looking down on those you rule. These are things we respect in Dorne. We see that an honorable man will soon take the throne and that a just woman will be his queen. We have no desire to intercede on this.” Arianne smiled slyly, “However, you must not begrudge us for seeing how advantageous for the North it has been to have their daughter so close to the throne. We once had a daughter of our own so close, but as I said, our king ripped her from her place. I will not hide my ambition from you to have a child of mine wed to one of yours.”

Arya’s neck hurt from holding this angle in Arianne’s embrace. She dropped her head and looked at her own hands as she reeled from the conversation. 

Arianne surmised that she and Gendry had not lain together, she had said this did not matter to her, and she then hedged to initiate negotiations for betrothals. Was this Arianne’s malicious cunning or her audacity? Both mayhap.

Arya asked, “Will you tell your father?” How far would this information go?

Arianne scoffed, “To me, you are wed. That is done. What business is it of my father’s what a woman does or does not do in her marriage bed, hmm?”

As Arya looked back up at Arianne and her fond and open expression, she struggled to believe the woman meant any evil to her. She was simply a smart woman. A smart woman for whom Arya could not help by respect and feel fond as well. 

Arya could feel the warmth of the sun again. Sweat from under Arianne’s arm ran down Arya’s back. A salty breeze swept through the garden, making the splashing from the water seem louder, like waves from the ocean. Arya’s shoulders let go of each other, and she smiled at the older woman’s mettle.

Arya sighed and then lilted, “It is too soon to speak of marriage for children who have not yet been born.”

Arianne laughed. “For the Iron Throne, there is no _too early_. If you wish to play your game of thrones, you will need to become accustomed to many more asking for things and for people who ‘ _have not yet been born_ ’.”

“Consider the seed planted,” Arya acquiesced with a laugh.

Arianne removed her arm from around Arya but stayed close, shoulders still touching.

“Speaking of planting seeds,” Arianne began, making Arya guffaw. “There is something about the cold that tempers a good vivacity for sex and love and pleasure, sweet Arya. Forgive me if I overstep, but I assume your mother and your septas spoke little to you of what goes on between two lovers.”

Arya blushed and pursed her lips. Should she confirm aloud that which the woman was already so sure? 

Arya’s desire to know more about what it would be like won out over her better judgment. She liked Arianne. She liked her loud laugh and understanding eyes. Arya liked that Arianne would be the Princess of Dorne in her own right with no one to question her claim to her lands and her people. Arya wanted to trust her, so she did. 

“My mother advised me to try to be as relaxed and comfortable as possible to ease the pain of my first coupling with my husband.” Arya looked at her hands instead of the future princess before her, but that made her feel like a coward. Arya lifted her head to jut her chin and meet Arianne’s eyes. “But I have heard it can be good. For the woman, too. I want it to be good for me, too.”

Arianne smiled her wide smile that showed off her many teeth and pulled at her full lips. She reached out to smooth Arya’s hair and pull her closer by the neck.

Arya felt her heart speed up as their faces drew nearer, Arianne’s hot breath blowing on her face.

“I have grown fond of you like a daughter, though we are more of an age to be sisters. I have been fortunate in my lovers and my experiences, and I wish the same for you. Do you know of desire, young Arya?” Arianne asked with the fire of a sun in her eyes. “Has anyone spoken to you of how you can want another? You can want their body and want it near to your own? Pressed against your own, so sweetly?”

Arya swallowed and blinked owlishly at Arianne. “No,” she spoke into the small space between them.

“I was four and ten when I felt that I had become a woman and I wanted to take a man the way a woman takes a man. I did not yet understand what it meant to desire, but it was still sweet and I remember it fondly,” Arianne smiled at the memory and then braced her hand more firmly on Arya’s neck. “In Dorne, a girl becomes a woman when she decides it. You must decide when you have become a woman and no sooner should you lay with another, husband or no. And, for desire, your body knows already what it wants and how it wants it. You must listen to it. When the time comes, please do not hesitate to ask anything of me.” Arianne’s smile was warm and genuine and looked as if it held a secret Arya would do anything at that moment to know. Arya could not resist but return it as she warmed at the idea of deciding for herself when she would become a woman and claiming that womanhood as she pleased. 

Arya startled at Arianne’s sudden boisterous laughter, throwing her head back as she did.

“If nothing else will ingratiate myself to the throne, it will be to aid the future queen and king in finding pleasure in the marriage bed. Nothing would make me so proud.”

Arya grinned despite her embarrassment. Arianne had that effect on her. 

They both turned together to watch once again as Gendry played in the water with the children. 

Arya watched as Gendry laughed and hoisted the children in the air as others dangled from his neck and limbs, muscles barely seeming to strain with the effort. Muscles that were clearly defined by his wetted tunic and breeches kissing his skin. His hair stuck to his face and neck, dripping water into his eyes and his mouth.

Arianne sighed beside her, and Arya turned to see a simmering look on her face. “You will not struggle to find your desire for your husband. You will know it when it comes to you.”

Arya blushed at Arianne’s implication. Arya glanced over to Gendry once more, and, upon noticing again how closely his tunic clung to his chest, she quickly turned back away to Arianne’s great amusement.

-

Gendry soon joined the women on the cushions to take refreshments. The three enjoyed fruits and other delectable treats neither Arya nor Gendry could have ever dreamed up.

There were fruits in the shape of a water drop filled with an uncountable number of seeds that felt funny in the mouth but tasted superb. 

There was a sweet baked treat with dozens of thin flaky layers with crushed green nuts in the center, soaked till it dripped with honey.

The deliciousness made Arya moan. 

When the high sun became too much, the three returned to the water to cool off. 

The children had all rejoined the parents for their own midday meals and reprieves, so the three waded into the shallower end of a nearby pool.

The water was cool and sent shivers up Arya’s spine at the contrast from the air. She and Arianne sank below the water’s surface. Arya returned seconds after Arianne, and the two young women laughed at the refreshing fun of their dip.

Arya’s laugher slowed as she noticed Gendry looking at Arianne, though not at her face.

Arya looked at Arianne, and the image of her nipples, hard and dark and visible through her swimming tunic, struck her.

Arya looked down at her own chest and saw that her nipples were hard as well and pink and very, very visible. She looked back at Gendry to find his eyes on her chest instead, red-faced and lips forming an ‘o’ shape.

His eyes flitted up to hers and upon being caught staring, he sunk into the water to sit on the bottom of the pool with only his shoulders and head above the surface. 

As Arianne cackled, Gendry dropped his face and ears into the water, blowing bubbles up and around his head and wet hair.

Arianne took hold of Arya’s hand. Arianne met Arya’s eyes and then rolled her own with a smile. She led Arya away from Gendry and back out of the waters.

“Let us leave him be, my dear Arya,” Arianne said. “We have embarrassed his weak Westerosi heart with our lack of modesty.”

Arya could not decide between laughing at Gendry’s embarrassment or wilting under her own embarrassment at Gendry reacting to her body in such a way.

They sat quietly for a few moments from their spot in the shade overlooking the gardens and Gendry continuing to sit in the water by himself. 

Eventually, the children returned and Gendry seemed to have regained himself as he stood from the water and resumed their game of Gendry lifting the children above his head and throwing them as far as he could into the deeper parts of the pool.

-

That night in their chambers, Arya and Gendry prepared for bed. While they usually would have conversed lightly and made no overt efforts to avoid their gazes from one another as they prepared for bed, Arya had the distinct impression Gendry was doing his utter best to not glance in her direction.

When they crawled onto their cushion bed, Arya halted her movement toward Gendry, afraid his withdrawn behavior would bleed into their night.

Gendry settled himself onto his side facing away from her, heaving a sigh as he relaxed into his pillow. 

Arya stared at his wide back and thick black hair that nearly touched his shoulders. She knew it would tickle her nose if she were to press her face to the nape of his neck, as she often did. Would she get to do that tonight? An unpleasant weight filled her stomach at her uncertainty.

Gendry turned his neck to look over his shoulder at her. It was the first time he had met her eye since they had been alone together that evening, and it was nearly a physical touch. 

Her heart filled with affection at his sad look and when he asked her, “Why are you so far away?” 

Arya scurried on hands and knees to take her place at Gendry’s back, tickling her nose in his hair and squeezing her arms tight around his middle. He relaxed back into her, and Arya felt filled to the brim.

She did not like the feelings of uncertainty he made her experience that night, and she easily suspected the cause. And, she was no craven.

“Did you see my nipples today, husband?”

Gendry immediately tensed and tried to lean out of her embrace. Arya tightened her arms around him and moved with him as he rocked forward. He rocked back into place and remained tensed.

“The, uh, Water Gardens were, uh. The sun was… bright. Today.” Arya could not see his face, but she could see his face. Scrunched and stupid and hurting himself with his thinking too hard.

“You did not answer my question, husband.” She squeezed her arms and pressed her chest against him. 

“I s’pose I din’t.”

“Answer my question, sweet husband,” Arya said with steel in her voice.

His shoulders hunched until they nearly touched his ears as he grumbled, “Yes.”

“Mine and Arianne’s?” Arya questioned further.

He made an unhappy sound in the back of his throat. Arya jostled him, and he let out a terse, “ _Yes_.”

There was no doubt in her mind by this point that this was indeed the cause of his evasive behavior that evening and this current foul attitude. With pure curiosity and wonder, she asked, "Did they please you?" She understood that men desired women. Relating that truth with Gendry seemed not to connect in her mind. Lazily, she began running her fingers through his chest hair as she had been wont to do since he had begun to favor the Dornish clothes at night.

"What kind o' question 's that?" He asked in that same terse tone, shoulders still hunched. 

"A simple one." The tingling of her fingertips grazing through the sparse, curly hair took her focus as she waited out Gendry’s initial angry huff.

"Yes, alright? I am a man." He snapped. 

"You are a man," Arya agreed. This was true, but still she struggled in her mind relating a man with a man’s needs to Gendry. 

He turned in her arms enough to peek at her over his shoulder, and her fingers fell still against his chest. He looked at her face and into her eyes. She held his gaze for a long moment before he rolled his eyes and untwisted his body, relaxing back against her. Her fingers resumed their play. 

After a few quiet moments, Gendry let out a contented sigh at her ministrations. It filled her with that now-familiar warmth. _Is this the desire of which Arianne spoke?_ Arya wondered. _Do I desire Gendry?_

Her grazing fingers explored more of his chest, and soon a dull nail caught over Gendry's hardened nipple, eliciting a sudden yelp and jolt from him. 

His strong reaction sped her heart. He swatted her hand away and sputtered before hunkering his shoulders again. "Don't do that!"

"Did it hurt?" she asked worried and confused.

"That's not what I said."

"Did it displease you?" she asked, now only confused.

"Didn't say that neither."

Curiosity for his body and his reactions suddenly consumed Arya, and she moved her hand toward his nipple once more, just to see what he would do. What sound he would make. 

Gendry stilled her hand.

"I said not again."

"Why?" She needed his words for this. She needed him to put whatever this was into words, so maybe it would still this unexpected rumble blooming inside her from their actions.

Gendry sighed deep and loud. "It felt good."

_Oh?_ "Then, why do you ask me to stop?"

"It feels good in a way I don't think you mean it to."

_Oh._ Arya thought she understood. She thought he meant in the way of which Arianne spoke. It gave him desire. "All right," she said, satisfied with his answer and the slight clarity it brought her. She removed her wrist from Gendry's grasp and laid it loosely over his middle. Gendry relaxed a final time and used his foot to tuck Arya's foot between his slightly bent legs, a gesture of peace she appreciated. She kissed the back of his neck because she wanted to do that. 

"Thank you," he said, quiet, like it was precious. Which was odd, Arya thought. He had never thanked her for a kiss before, but it pleased her. She pressed her smile into his neck as a response.

-

While varying wildly in execution, the fun Arya had playing in the Water Gardens was comparable only to fights in the snow. You (Arya) splashed as you would throw rolled up balls of snow. You (Gendry) lobbed children into deeper waters as you would toss them into snowbanks. It was pure delight.

Joyous laughter filled the gardens the whole of their first day, and they would soon find that it would fill each subsequent day nearly to burst. 

Days and weeks slipped into each other, running like heatwaves over the sunbaked sands.

Oberyn Martell would join them near the end of their time in the gardens along with his lover Allaria, his nephew Trystane, and some of his daughters. 

Arya found kindred spirits in these daughters. From them, she learned of new fighting styles from lands far beyond Westeros and of battle tactics that went beyond brute strength.

While initially grated by his gregarious personality, Gendry was soon worn down by Oberyn and his flirtatious nature. Gendry’s face reddened near every time Oberyn stood within arm’s reach, yet he was slower and slower to make his exit each time.

Arya questioned Gendry one night why she often caught Oberyn winking at him. 

“I don’t pretend to understand the man,” was all he had to say about it at first.

After some not so gentle prodding, the bull of a man relented only that they talked about bastards and love and children and how it all made him feel a little better about being a bastard himself, which pleased Arya.

Soon, they neared the time for their departure from Dorne and to begin their travels to Old Town and then quickly onto High Garden for an extended stay.

A few nights before they would begin to make their way back to Sunspear, the two fell into their bed, blissfully tired to their bones. They had not had such fun in a long time. Since Winterfell, most like. King’s Landing did not offer much in the ways of _fun_ , at least nothing in which they could partake as heirs to the throne. However, in Dorne, such distinctions of what a noble may enjoy and what a peasant may enjoy were not restricted from each other. Joy was for all; fun was for anyone who could have it. 

Arya draped her body across Gendry’s chest in a heavy flop. He let out an _oof_ and after a moment’s recovery began to rub her back idly. 

“I like it here, Gendry,” Arya said into her folded arms on which she laid her head, looking out into the courtyard as the breeze off the sea pressed the branches and stems and grasses of the foliage lazily.

“I like it here, too,” he responded amicably from behind her.

“I really, really like it here,” Arya insisted. “I feel as if I am ‘ _thriving_ ’ like Prince Doran said. And, Arianne said we could stay as long as we liked.” 

“Are you asking if we can stay longer? I don’t think that is up to me,” Arya could hear the soft laugh in his tired voice.

“I will write to my father and Sansa in the morning,” Arya decided. “I hope she will not be too terribly put out that it will be another few months before we see her, but I will assure her that we will still stay in Highgarden the same duration as discussed,” she explained. Gendry’s hand on her back lulled her eyes closed as its weight brushed from her neck to the curve of her back and then up again. “I do want to see my sister and catch up. It is just not the same writing to each other through ravens or messengers. The first is too short, and the second takes too long.” Arya sneaked a glance over her shoulder at Gendry, who had not once interjected in her musings. She found him smiling with his eyes closed, still stroking her back with his steady, heavy hand.

She rolled bodily over him to her spot, making him laugh with indignation as she went. She landed facing away from him, and he surprised her by rolling onto his side to take her into his arms, pressing her back to his front. She did not feel the length of him that she had felt in the Northern mornings when similar positions had been a necessity and not a playful gesture, though the thought of it still made her blush pleasantly. She allowed herself to relish in the moment for a full breath in and out before wriggling like a desperate fish out of water. There were peels of laugher from both as Gendry ardently attempted to wrangle her in. 

Alas, he was strong, but she was quick. 

She used her fist to jab him in the gut, his then loosened arms allowed her to slip down and away. Gendry recovered and grabbed at her hips, dragging her back flailing. She managed to twist herself so she could straddle her legs around Gendry’s waist with his hands switched on her hips after her turn-around. 

They paused to catch their breaths. 

They had wrestled many times before this. 

In his forge in Winterfell, in the stables of the Red Keep in the hay before a ride outside the walls of King’s Landing, in the practice yard at Storm’s End when Arya grew frustrated with Gendry holding back with his Warhammer against her Needle. 

But never in a bed. 

Never in such thin clothes that Arya could feel his heat between her legs from his stomach, against her hips from his hands, down her spine from his eyes.

His eyes which looked clouded and heavy with something she would not name.

Without warning, Gendry threw her from him to her side of the bed. She whipped back around, winded and annoyed, to find him turned onto his stomach. 

Excellent. She broke him again, just like on the boat. 

It was getting less silly and more aggravating each time, but she took a deep breath and let it out as a good-natured sigh. She crawled back to Gendry’s side of the bed and laid herself out against his side and played with the ever-growing hair at the nape of his neck until his shoulders relaxed. When she grew tired, she laid her head beside his on his pillow and drifted off. 

The bright Dornish sun woke her in the morning as it flooded the room. 

Arya took in her bearings. 

Gendry had shifted in the night to face away with Arya close at his back, one arm slipped under his neck to wrap around his chest and the other laid over his side and rested on his stomach. Each hand was cradled in one of Gendry’s in his sleep. Arya tucked her face deeper into the back of his neck to catch a few more of these moments before the day began.

-

After three turns of the moon in Dorne, Arya and Gendry parted from the Martells and their other new friends in Sunspear with heavy hearts.

While she had grown closest to Arianne, Arya had still immensely enjoyed her time with the Sand Snakes.

Obara had been the first to give Arya a true fight since Syrio Forel, bruising and bloodying Arya without hesitation if her footwork or swordplay was not good enough. Arya respected the woman, a true warrior. Obara promised to gift her a Sand Steed that would be waiting for her at King’s Landing upon her return.

Tyene eagerly agreed to begin a correspondence with Arya discussing poisons, beginning her edification on the topic. Arya was fascinated by the subject, and Tyene was more than happy to help educate the future queen on such a powerful weapon and defense.

Nymeria, who had been pleased to learn Arya had named her powerful and beautiful beast the same as her, gifted her a dagger for her boot and a tip to always have at least six blades on her at any time, only one of which to be known by others.

The rest of the sisters gave their goodbyes as well, and Arya regretted not having been able to spend even more time with them all as they filtered in and out of the Water Gardens over the last few months. They were all so different from each other, yet Arya would never have questioned they were all sisters. It reminded her of her and Sansa, and the pang in her heart made all the goodbyes just a little bit easier knowing she was finally on her way to her sister after so many months away. She had grown so accustomed to Sansa’s pestering but loving presence in King’s Landing over the years. The closer she got to her, the greater the ache for her.

Arya looked over to Gendry as he spoke his farewells. Oberyn had an arm wrapped tight around Gendry’s hunched shoulders, a smile on the former man’s face and a blush and frown on the latter’s. It was not the first time Arya had caught the two in a similar embrace. 

Upon questioning, Gendry resolutely remained tight-lipped on the topic. While clearly embarrassed and annoyed with the man, Gendry never seemed particularly perturbed or unduly affected. So, Arya let Gendry have his privacy on the matter. She had not told him of her conversations with Arianne about desire and want; he could have his words with Oberyn to himself, though it was without possibilities that of what they spoke could have been nearly as salacious and mortifying to speak aloud. 

Oberyn patted Gendry’s shoulder with a final wry look to the younger man. Gendry surprised both Arya and Oberyn when he turned in Oberyn’s embrace to pull him into a tight hug. After an amazed moment, Oberyn returned the hug with a tight squeeze and a rub with his hand over Gendry’s hair.

Gendry heaved a breath and pulled away at last. The men exchanged a final look and nod before Gendry stepped away to rejoin Arya. Over Gendry’s shoulder, she watched Oberyn smile at Gendry’s back and laugh with a shake of his head. 

Arya locked eyes with Arianne, whose brows knit and mouth moved to form words that did not come.

Gendry reached them and took Arya’s hand in his, grip firm and reassuring.

Together, they turned to face Arianne and Prince Doran.

“Princess Arya and Prince Gendry,” Prince Doran began warmly from his wheeled chair, “Did you enjoy your stay?”

Arya appreciated Prince Doran’s quiet warmth. He cared little for pageantry and platitudes. He truly welcomed them into his home and hoped for friendship and diplomacy between them.

“We did, Prince Doran,” she answered with a smile. “In fact, we _thrived_ , as you so hoped we would.”

Prince Doran laughed with a wide grin and with his whole body, reminiscent of how Arianne would laugh.

“I am so glad. Your skins now have a healthy color to them. It should be no other way. Even for someone from the North.”

Arya smirked. “I wondered if I even could catch some of your sun in my skin. Your land has proven it so. I shall bring tales of this up North.”

Arianne and Prince Doran both laughed at this. Arya could see Gendry shaking his head from the corner of her eye.

Prince Doran sighed peacefully, “Thank you for coming to our lands and meeting our people. You both have been welcomed additions to our home these last months, and your absences will be noticed.” He looked to Arianne beside him with a smile and turned back to Arya and Gendry. “Friendships forged through intentions are no less true than those found by fate, just as you both have grown love in a marriage between strangers. We want to forge friendships because we believe those are far stronger than any intimidation or wars or threats could ever be. We reach out to you in friendship because we want peace.”

Arya and Gendry’s eyes met, and they smiled. 

“That is what we want as well,” Arya said.

“To the Seven Kingdoms and peace in our lands,” Prince Doran said.

He reached an arm to Arya who returned the gesture, letting go of Gendry’s hand. They clasped wrists, and then after a moment, Arya leaned in for a warm embrace. 

Arya and Prince Doran released each other. 

Gendry moved forward and leaned down to embrace Prince Doran, and Arya stepped to Arianne. 

The two women held tight to each other. Arya relished in the tinkling of Arianne’s bangles and earrings and necklaces. It was a sound Arya would always hold close to her memories in Dorne. As they pulled away, Arianne took Arya’s face in her hands and pulled her towards herself until their foreheads touched.

Arianne whispered, “I will miss you, sweet one.”

“I will miss you, too,” Arya whispered back.

“You must send word as soon as you take your husband as your lover,” Arianne commanded quietly.

Arya gasped in somewhat mock irritation. She held Arianne at arm’s length and looked around conspiratorially, seeing Gendry exchanging a few more words with Doran and Oberyn who had joined them, before going back in closer to Arianne. 

“I will do no such thing!” Arya hissed.

“If for no other reason than that I am your friend, you must so I may find myself with an heir soon as well,” Arianne said with incomparable audacity. “As well, I will have wonderful advice for you that I am sure you will want once you know how to ask.”

Arya blushed and knew her lack of response was all Arianne needed to know she was right at least on the last account.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please, leave a comment if you enjoyed! They fuel my writing.


	3. Highgarden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Dorne to Oldtown to Highgarden, Arya and Gendry learn more about Westeros. While in Highgarden, a sister educates another, and confidences are grown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really envision Sansa as someone who loves learning and practicing that knowledge. I think that's why she is so dedicated to learning about being a lady and then following those rules so ardently. And Arya is so inquisitive to know anything and everything. I think they actually complement each other in a fantastic way in this regard. This chapter reflects that in a funny way (in my opinion I cracked up writing this chapter a ton of times). Thank you for reading!!

It took nigh on a sennight to sail from Sunspear to Oldtown. There, they spent but a fortnight exploring the city and meeting with the maesters of the Citadel. They could have spent many more months there learning and experiencing all there was in the oldest city in Westeros. However, after already delaying their arrival to Highgarden, Arya began to miss her sister more and more each day. 

-

From Oldtown to Highgarden entailed another leg by foot and horse. Arya found herself enjoying the pleasant memories of their travels to Winterfell near two years prior. Gendry, who never seemed to find his seating on a horse, barely tried to keep a sour mood away. 

Arya marveled at his stubbornness that he could refuse to soak in the beauty of the vast hills and farms they passed through. Each day Arya picked a bunch of flowers for Gendry filled with all sorts of blooms she had never seen before. Upon receiving them was the only time each day he would grace the caravan with his smile. 

Then and when they gathered onto their tiny cot and held each other close as cool autumnal breezes blew through their tent. 

Also in the mornings when Gendry would forget they were on the road and look down at Arya and for just a few moments the whole of the world was right there in his arms and smiling back at him. 

Or so he told her one afternoon when she had griped for the fourth time that day about his poor attitude on the road. She was unsure if he had said that to appease her or if he truly meant it. 

Regardless, the blush and smile his words brought to her face stayed in place until the next morning, where he did in fact smile at her in the dim light of the rising sun and leaned down to press his lips to her brow and breath in her hair before sighing the happiest sound he would make that day.

Stupid man.

-

As the gates to Highgarden opened, Sansa rushed out toward their retinue. Arya hurried down from her horse to meet her sister in a tight embrace. Sansa lifted Arya from her feet and spun her around. Arya had never heard such a carefree laugh from her sister, full-bellied and unflattering and happy. 

-

The two sisters sat at a balcony overlooking the south side of the castle with the late afternoon sun to their right warming their skin pleasantly. Fresh cut flowers and fresh baked sweets sat on the table between them.

The Tyrells were a witty and warm bunch, never short on conversation or food. Arya enjoyed them, but she was grateful for the time alone with her sister. 

Sansa clacked her neatly trimmed fingernails against the tabletop as she looked out at the valleys she would one day rule as the Lady of the Reach. The conversation had been stilted immediately following the exit of the servents. The two still struggled to sit easily in silences with each other, likely due to the mutual awareness that the silence was not by choice but a lack of shared interests. Margaery was a wonderful conversationalist when present. 

Sansa pursed her lips before saying, “The food here has been like nothing I have ever tasted.” She ate a berry cake and then a lemon cake, both in one bite each.

Arya agreed with a hum and took a berry cake from the platter, eating it in two bites. They truly were delectable. Berries as such were not a rarity in the North, Crownlands, Riverlands, or Dorne, but they were not quite so abundant and well grown.

Arya had a peach on her first day in the castle. She watched as Willas Tyrell plucked it from a tree in a private courtyard. He handed it to Margaery who sliced it all the way across along its seem and then twisted and pulled the flesh from the pocked seed inside. She gave one half to Arya and the other to Gendry. The thick juice dripped down Arya’s chin as she moaned in pleasure at the syrupy sweetness of the firm-fleshed fruit. Arya heard Gendry moan into his fruit as well and her body responded with a confusing warmth and tightness in her stomach that made her both lose her appetite and ravenous for more. 

Arya tilted her head as she took in her sister not for the first time since her arrival. 

A small smile seemed to always sit on the edges of her lips, and her eyes were wide and sharp and taking everything in at all times. Highgarden had been doing well for Sansa. From the way she would laugh that new laugh for nearly anything Willas had said or anytime he gave her a sly look from across a room or the way she gravitated toward the man and him toward her, Arya wagered that married life had been doing well for Sansa.

“Sansa,” Arya began, and Sansa turned to give Arya her attention. “Are you happy?” Sansa’s brow went up. “With how this all turned out? Me in King’s Landing and you in the Reach?”

Sansa reached out to place her hand over Arya’s. “Everything is how it should be, dear sister. I could not be happier.”

“So, he is good to you? Willas?” Arya asked though she knew the answer.

Red bloomed on Sansa’s cheeks as she grinned. “I could not have asked for a better husband. I could not have asked for a better home than here in Highgarden. I am blessed by the old gods and the new for the life I have been able to make. I have even been able to still learn the arts and powers of politicking from Lady Olenna, my good grandmother. She is shrewd and far cleverer than Old Queen Cersei ever was.” 

Arya remembered the time when Sansa had adored Old Queen Cersei and how that adoration eventually twisted into fear and pain. She was so very grateful Sansa found someone new to teach her the ways of a powerful lady. Arya would be sure to check in with Sansa often for new lessons to pass on, as she would need them in the coming years when she would become Queen.

“Good, Sansa. That is all so very good.” Arya struggled to find the nerve to ask her next question. Her heart began to race and it made her feel like a craven. “When you married Willas,” Arya darted her eyes away and then back. “Did you feel like a woman grown?”

Sansa thought for a moment before answering. “I suppose when we first met, I felt like such a girl compared to him, he seemed so much _older_.”

Arya nodded along.

“However, before we had met, he had written me letters describing his favorite books and constellations and why they were all his favorite and asked me for my favorite things so that we would have much to talk about already when we met.” Sansa smiled. “And, he was right. The weeks before our wedding, we would walk for a bit, though not too much due to his leg, and then sit in the gardens and talk for hours as if we had known each other for years already.” Sansa sighed and her smile turned more salacious. “It made the wedding night far easier than I expected.”

“Yes,” Arya said slowly. “I have questions,” she said slower yet.

Sansa tilted her head, her lips formed an _oh_ , and then she smiled wide and excited.

“Oh, Arya. I suspected, but I did not want to pry. You and Gendry, you haven’t,” she trailed off with a questioning lilt. 

“Not yet,” Arya answered. “He told me to wait until I wanted him, and I fear I do not know what that is.”

“Do you let out a wetness between your legs when you are with him?” Sansa asked with clear, unwavering eyes.

Arya was too confused to blush at the intimacy she suspected the question invaded. “Sometimes,” she said. “Is that related?”

“Oh, yes. Very much,” Sansa nodded her head with surety. “This wetness is what allows his cock to enter you comfortably.”

“Sansa!” Arya exclaimed scandalized. She never thought there would ever be a day she would hear her proper lady sister say such a word and that it would be she who would shrill like their mother at her. 

Sansa laughed her new laugh and patted Arya’s cheek. “There is much Mother did not tell us that she should have. I was lucky to have Margaery to educate me in the ways of the body before my first coupling with my husband, and now you have me. So, please, ask me anything you wish.”

Arya felt both as if she could sink into a hole at her mortification of discussing with her sister such intimate acts and as if she could scream with joy from the highest tower that she could speak freely.

“Tell me more of this ‘wetness’ and how I get it,” Arya all but demanded. She wanted to know.

Sansa lifted her hand with a finger raised, reminiscent of how their septa would do at the start of a lesson. The comparison brought a bubble of laughter to Arya’s lips.

“Pleasant touching from your husband will bring you arousal and wetness to the entrance of your womb. This is to ease the intrusion of his manhood each time you couple. Which touching will be most pleasant for you is different for each woman, and you both will need to discover this yourselves. Margaery gave me the most wonderful advice that you _must insist_ from your first engagements together that you direct the tone of your couplings. You must focus on your pleasure and his will derive from that.”

Arya’s jaw slackened and she felt flush all over imagining Gendry’s cock anywhere near her unclothed body.

“Oh, that was so much, Sansa. Thank you.” Arya tried to organize her thoughts to figure out what she did not understand so she could ask Sansa for clarification. “What would be pleasant touching?”

“Excellent question,” Sansa tapped her finger to her chin. “Any part of you that is sensitive to touch. Your hair, your breasts, your wrists, your feet, your thighs. For your first encounter, it is a must that he first puts his fingers inside you before his cock. This is to better prepare your body for the stretch.” Sansa nodded her head definitively.

Sansa had overwhelmed her. Arya had wanted details but now felt lost in them. How was she to remember this all when the time came? None of this answered her real question of how to know when that time would be.

Arya rubbed her temples, and Sansa laughed. 

“The logistics of sex can be as complicated as those needed on the battlefield until a couple finds their stride. At least that is how Willas and I have found it and Margaery has confirmed it is similar for her.” Sansa leaned back in her seat, and Arya mirrored the movement. 

“How will I know when I want him?” Arya asked.

“I think you already do,” Sansa observed. “You just need to act on it. It is often easier as a wedding brings about the opportunity itself or in the cases outside of a marriage most usually the man will bring about the choice to fuck or not and you decide from there.” Arya felt doubly scandalized by Sansa’s language when she did not flinch at it at all. “You have created a unique predicament where your husband is waiting for you to give him the choice.” Sansa huffed a laugh. “It is actually quite funny that while you married first, I laid with my husband first. You do make things rather unusual without even trying.”

Arya did not like the way Sansa made her feel different like this, but she said it with such love and admiration in her eyes and voice that Arya could not take it as anything other than praise.

“How will I know if Gendry is aroused?” Arya inquired. She had her suspicions but wanted Sansa to confirm.

“His member will harden and lengthen and become more sensitive,” Sansa said with graceful simplicity. “You likely must have seen something of the sort. Men cannot hide the evidence of their arousals as easily as women can, and you have shared a bed over two years.”

Arya nodded. “Most mornings and sometimes when we wrestle. Though I am not certain of those times, I have suspected. He will stop our games abruptly and lay on his stomach refusing to even talk to me. He is too much.”

Sansa chortled. “Oh, Arya. Your Gendry is most definitely ready whenever you are.”

The thought warmed her. The confirmation that Gendry had want for her pleased her.

“But, how do I know what my wanting for him feels like?” Arya implored. 

“It can be different for different women,” Sansa mused. “When Willas looks at me as if I am the only creature in the world worth looking at, I can already feel warm and flush from him.” Sansa impressed Arya with her unwavering stare. “My heart beats faster and my breathing as well. I just _want_. It is difficult to describe, I suppose. It is as if my skin feels lacking without his skin against it, and I would do anything to keep him against me.”

It was so simple for Sansa when it felt all jumbled up for Arya. She wondered if mayhaps she was overthinking the whole ordeal. The act seemed simple enough and from what she understood the pleasure would be welcomed and she had no trouble being close to Gendry. 

Sansa soothed a hand over Arya’s hair and cooed, “Sister.”

Arya leaned into the touch and sighed. “I am jumbling it all up in my head, and I do not know why.”

-

That night, while Arya and Gendry laid in bed in their guest chambers in Highgarden with the cool breezes of the Reach in autumn coming through the windows, Arya considered what her sister said. 

Gendry laid on his back with his arm around Arya tucked into his side with her head resting on his shoulder and her nose pressed into his neck just under his chin. She tucked her feet under his legs because she liked the pressure. Her arm laid bent on his chest. She slipped her hand through the slit in his Dornish sleeping shirt and played with his chest hair again, and he made that contented sound that made her belly warm in a way she now recognized as arousal. 

She purposely grazed her fingers over a nipple as she had in Dorne, anticipating his reaction. He jolted, squeaked, and wiggled against her and she could not help but laugh at her large, intimating husband protesting to her teasing. 

Arya relented for the night at Gendry’s grumbles. She felt a small pool of arousal between her thighs thinking about Gendry being so sensitive and wrapped up in her arms. She thought about Sansa’s blush as she spoke of her coupling with her new husband and what her own wetness meant. She liked it. She liked the thought of feeling those things with Gendry. She wished right then she could look into his eyes, his pretty blue eyes that always looked at her as if he saw her soul, and act on those feelings. But it was night and they were both almost asleep. 

For the time being, she enjoyed becoming accustomed to these new feelings, enjoyed letting the arousal wash over her as a pleasant buzz while she appreciated her husband’s heat and firm muscles. Pressing her breasts against his side and relishing in how he flexed in response, she breathed in the scent of his hair and his neck, earthy and familiar now. 

-

“It feels good to be touched in all sorts of places, but the most very best place is a very special piece of flesh nestled in the folds between your legs.”

“What makes it special?”

“That is a mystery beyond me. However, I am very grateful for it. When you let your husband rub it just so sweetly, you will peak.”

“What is _peak_?”

“A woman peaks when she experiences particularly wonderful pleasure. A husband has not done his wife his duty unless he has made her peak.”

“Does the husband peak as well?”

“Oh, yes. It is a bit of a dramatic affair and a bit more obvious than a woman’s. When he finishes, he spills and if he spills inside of you, that spill is what will put a babe in you. If a husband is particularly adept, his wife can peak more than once.”

“Fascinating.” 

-

Over the course of their stay, Sansa’s increased appetite for food and her husband, as well as her sudden bursts of energy followed by encompassing fatigues, were no longer able to be politely ignored. 

“You are with child,” Arya said, not asked, one afternoon as she and her sister strolled through the godswood.

A step ahead of Arya, Sansa stopped in front of the three weirwood trees nestled in the heart of the wood. 

Arya watched the back of Sansa’s head until she turned it just enough for Arya to see the small smirk on Sansa’s lips and the satisfied glint her eye.

Arya rushed forward and enveloped Sansa in a tight embrace, hooting in excitement. 

Sansa turned in her arms so they could hug properly, squeezing back with a sigh. “I’m going to be a mother,” she rejoiced into the quiet space between them.

“You are to be a mother,” Arya returned, overjoyed for her.

“And you to be an aunt.”

“An aunt!” Though she had suspected for weeks, the first whispers in her mind beginning near upon her arrival, to know it for true still filled Arya’s heart with a joy she did not know she could have. Her heart felt as if it grew inside her chest to make more room for the love she had for this new child who grew within her sister. _An aunt!_

-

“If you so choose, you could put your mouth on him, and he on you.”

“I would assume I would. We have not yet kissed for true, but I presumed we would when making love.”

“Not like that.”

“Then like what?”

“Your mouth on his cock or his—“

“Sansa!”

“—mouth on your cunt.”

“ _Sansa._ ”

“Arya, I do know my name.”

“Hmph.”

“You may wish to wait for that if you’re going to act like that about it.”

“I’m not acting like anything! You’re the one… You’re just… Does that really feel good?”

“Immensely! Though it requires great familiarity with closeness. So build up to it, sister, and you will find great joy in the act.”

“But, no child will come of this.”

“No child needs to come of coupling if your husband knows his duty well to his wife.”

“Fascinating.”

-

The lands of the Reach were sprawling and abundant. 

Arya spent most of her time trying new fruit and vegetables only available in the kingdom from which they grew. They did not transport well and therefore could only be eaten fresh.

The sun, while not as hot as in Dorne, warmed her bones in a way no other sun had. She would spend hours in the gardens in the company of Sansa and Margaery and their ladies in waiting, enjoying the way time held suspended perfectly light and soft. The air was sweet and filling. One breath filled the lungs like a meal filled a belly.

Gendry most days would find his way back in the late afternoon from whatever the highborn men of Highgarden chose to do that day and join Arya and the other ladies for lunch and other refreshments. He enjoyed Willas’ quiet nature but could not bring himself to care for the other men. He liked Loras well enough from the time they had spent with him and Renly in King’s Landing, but he had soon left to make his way to Storm’s End to rejoin the man. 

The first few days Gendry sat stiff and awkward, still deeply uncomfortable with highborn ladies. However, as the days wore on and he was inundated with the silliness and fun they would get up to while lounging in a garden, he eventually grew comfortable enough to bring his chair close enough to Arya’s so their arms touched and chat amicably with her and the other ladies, soon enjoying the gossip near more than them. According to him, their stories of the other nobles and their antics were even more dramatical than most of the mummer’s tales he watched as a boy in Flea Bottom. 

“No! Don’t tell me what happened to Lord Pemberly’s arsehole after his wife found him with the stableboy! I have to look the man in the eye at court!”

“My apologies, Prince Gendry, but you would never forgive me if I did not, so you must let me tell you how she sacrificed her own hands to be able to rub leaves of a poisoned ivy in his small clothes, leaving the man’s cock, balls, and hole aflame with irritation.”

At that, Gendry had fallen out of his chair laughing.

“He could not sit for a week after, and not fuck for a month after that. Though, I cannot imagine who among that castle would risk the wrath of the lady after that.”

-

“There are many different positions in which to couple.”

“You mean where on the bed?”

“I mean how you slot your bodies together.”

“Oh. When Septa Mordane explained it, she said the husband lays atop the wife and pushes in and if either prefers not to see the other then the wife can lay instead on her stomach.”

“Those are both fine, but there is so, so much more. You must try as many as you can think and you each will find your favorite. You can have more than one, but once you find it, let him know and don’t let him forget.”

“Fascinating.”

-

They departed Highgarden with tears and love.

Sansa held Arya tighter than when she had arrived, and Arya attempted to return the strength, never one to be outmatched. 

Arya held her chin high as their retinue passed the gates. She waved to the people of the castle who had welcomed them so warmly and cared for them so well. She did not want them to know how hard she fought to keep her tears from spilling. She reminded herself that she still had her Gendry and that she would be returning to Father and Bran and Mother. She pushed from her mind how she would not be there for the birth of Sansa’s babe. 

When they would return to King’s Landing, it will have been nigh on nine turns of the moon since they had been there last. They were needed in their city. They could not try Father to bear the burden of corralling King Robert for such a long time without reprieve.

Thoughts of duty helped dull the ache of where her heart wanted to be though the did not soothe her fully.

Something bumped against her side, and she turned to see Gendry struggling to smoothly bring his horse closer.

He smiled sheepishly at her, looking at her through his lashes as he ducked his head bashfully. She reached out her hand to his and clasped them tightly. 

Gendry lifted their hands to kiss the back of hers, and her tears fell from her eyes in a cleansing release. 

The piece of her heart that grew to make room for the child would stay with Sansa, but the rest, the part that had already been given to Gendry, would be with her always, as long as he was with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a little shorter than usual and not much happens, but it was very vital in being able to get to what I've been trying to get to for tens of thousands of words (if you know what I mean).
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I truly love and appreciate every single comment with all my heart. Each one makes me smile and definitely helps me write faster knowing you guys like what I'm writing. xoxoxox <3<3<3<3<3<3


	4. King's Landing I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya's seven and tenth name day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I'm in a city on semi-lockdown for the _pandemic_ lol and time has lost all meaning.
> 
> Thank you so much to EVERYONE! I have the kindest most wonderful commenters in the world!! Every single one has made me so happy and I hope everyone forgives me when I reply to your comments with super long rants about things I could not fit into the body of the story.

On her seven and tenth name day, a feast was thrown and merriment was had by all in the Great Hall of the Red Keep. Bran had been squiring for a respectable knight in the King’s Guard for a few months by then and was able to join the festivities. He got her rather deep into her cups early during the feast and had her dancing merrily with himself, Gendry, and a few other ladies of the court who were drunk enough as well to dance with their princess.

The party went on from dusk to the moon was high in the sky, basking the partygoers who wandered into courtyards in its white light. 

By then, Arya had rather sobered up. Her good Gendry, who never got much past tipsy even on the most joyous of occasions, sat quietly with her on the raised dais as they watched the more muted but just as happy remaining guests enjoy the last of the food and ale and wine as the musicians played their final few songs.

“Are you ready to retire, my love?” Gendry asked Arya, leaning down close to murmur in her ear despite the raucous of the evening having waned hours prior. Though they had yet to speak the exact words of such devotion, Gendry had taken to sweet names for Arya that made her insides melt to goo and warmed her face.

Arya felt a deep happiness in her bones and satisfaction ran through her veins. Her name day had been wonderful, and she could not wait to end it in the arms of her sweet husband in their bed. Their travels over the last two years had taught her that home was not a place. It was in the hearts of the ones you loved, and to Arya, there was no closer to Gendry’s heart than in the circle of his arms, surrounded by his smell and his warmth. 

The softening light of the candles of the hall danced across his face, and Arya could not help but remark to herself how handsome her husband was. He had been pleasant to look at when they first married, though she could only admit that in remembrance as her younger self would never have allowed such silly thoughts. 

The muscles he had earned in his forge had been raw and bulging, his hair shorn messily. After nigh on three years as the son of a king, his body had flourished. His muscles were larger, his hair longer, his smile softer. At least when he looked at her. Though, his smile had always been softer when he looked at her. From the very first smile he gave her.

He smelled like boy and man and soap, and there were some nights, she had noticed most oft in the week preceded by her moon’s blood, she was filled with such want for him she near could not stand it. But she did not yet know what to do with this want. She would want to scream to herself to pull away from his embrace in the night, but that would require she cease touching him, cease holding herself against him while he held her to him just as tight. That would simply not do. So, she would lay in a blissful agony as her want would consume her.

Arya smiled at her husband with soft eyes. “Yes, let us retire for the night. The rest of the guests can continue without us.”

They rose from their seats and departed from the hall. Two attendants followed them, but Arya waved them off as they entered their chambers. The dress Arya had chosen for the evening was simple enough that she and Gendry could manage its removal themselves. More importantly, Arya had had her fill of other people for the day. She had loved her name day celebration and every person she had seen that day, but it had been a great many engagements and fun. Now was the time to shed her day and wrap herself in the warmth of someone who felt more like an extension of her own soul than another person. 

They helped each other disrobe and then washed up. 

Arya plaited her hair by her looking glass and washbasin and through that looking glass watched Gendry take his place in the large canopied bed, sitting on top of the blankets as he waited for her to join. 

He wore his favored Dornish sleep shirt with the deep slit in the front exposing most of his chest under the soft, thin material. He fell back onto his pillows with a heavy sigh, likely also exhausted from the exciting day. He was always much quicker to tire with other people. She appreciated how tough this day must have been for him and even more so how much effort he must have put into staying present and in good spirits throughout the day’s activities.

Seven and ten. 

She was a woman grown. 

She was seven and ten and a woman grown and before her laid her husband, soft and firm and pliable and sturdy.

His chest hair had grown to the point that she could see its black smattering from where she stood across the chamber. 

She was a woman grown and he was a man grown.

He had been for quite a while.

He had told her he would wait until she wanted him and not a moment sooner would he—

This was the desire of which Arianne had spoken. This need, this pull. Arya wanted. She swallowed hard. She wanted and she could have. She tied off the end of her braid and flipped it over her shoulder as she made her way to their marriage bed.

She was now the age mother had been when she wed father. The age Sansa was when she wed Willas.

She braced herself against the poster at the far end of the bed from Gendry. She knew he had heard her approach, so she waited until he opened his eyes to look at her.

She smiled at him. He smiled back and sat up, bracing himself with his arms behind him.

“Happy name day, Arya,” he said oh so softly.

“Thank you, husband,” Arya replied trying to hide a small smirk.

His eyed narrowed, long ago having noticed she most only called him such when she was taking the shit with him.

Arya felt ready to combust with this feeling. She felt a dragon’s flame burning in her chest and between her legs, pulsing for Gendry, pushing her forward to touch and feel and be close.

She kneeled on the edge of the bed, Gendry watching her every movement.

She looked at him. From the soft hair on his head to his handsome face and across his wide chest rising and falling with his steady breaths down his waist wrapped in thin trousers barely tied around thick thighs and further down to large feet. She looked back up to his wide eyes.

“Gendry,” she said, but nothing more. He did not seem to hear her anyway.

She licked her dry lips and shuffled across the bed, sitting down hip to hip with him.

She bent her head back to look up at Gendry who was already staring down at her.

She watched him swallow and felt his heat rolling off him.

Arya leaned into him and lifted her hand to hover her palm just over his chest where it was bare from his shirt. His heat was almost too much.

“Seven and ten,” she spoke to her hand. “I have decided I am a woman grown now.” She looked up at him through her lashes. “I want to kiss you.” She pressed her hand to his chest. It was supple and soft but also the hair scritched her palm.

He worked his jaw for a moment before nodding. He shifted his weight to lift his arm closest to her to wrap around Arya’s middle, resting his hand on her thigh.

She tipped back her head and he leaned down. It was a firm press of the lips and then they pulled apart.

It had been nice. Very nice. She smiled at him with a giggle, and he grinned back. They were both red-faced and happy.

The hand on his chest pushed so he would lean back just a bit. Arya twisted and lifted her leg to swing it across his lap. She held herself above him, her nightdress stretched across her thighs and Gendry looking up at her like she was the moon in the sky. 

Arya wanted her husband. He was hers to take. By the old gods and the new, she would take him.

His hands found their way to her hips, and she lowered herself to sit. She felt his cock beneath her arse and her chest filled with something thick and good. It was all so thrilling, and she did not know what to do with it all.

She slid her hands from his chest to his neck to his jaw, messaging as they kissed more, closed-lipped. 

They both pulled away for a small moment to switch the position of their heads, and when they came back together their lips misaligned. They both smiled into the kiss at their shared eagerness and the newness. 

She scooched closer to press their bodies flush together and felt his hardness anew. Arya moaned for the first time, and it surprised the both of them. They laughed again at themselves. 

When they rejoined, they kissed with more fervor, rubbing against each other, their breaths getting heavier. Gendry turned them over so they laid on their sides. They pressed their foreheads together and breathed each other in, chests heaving already.

Nearly out of breath, Arya said, “I heard people rub their tongues together for pleasure.”

Holding her stare, Gendry nodded.

They looked at each other’s mouths as they parted their lips. Their tongues met in the middle and ran against each other in the air between their mouths. 

It was a simple movement but Arya could never have imagined something so erotic in her young life. 

They both groaned and held each other closer. 

Arya brought her tongue back into her mouth and Gendry's followed, continuing to rub his against hers as they lost sense of themselves and became one. Arya slid her hands into Gendry's hair and grasped and pulled as she moaned into his mouth, trying desperately to relieve the energy coursing through her from their closeness. 

He groaned back and ground his arousal against her thighs, and the energy instead intensified, thrumming from the top of her head through her breasts and her fingertips to the apex of her legs and the tips of her toes. 

She ripped her mouth from his to catch her breath, again overwhelmed by it all and drowning in her want for more. She reared her head back as she tried to press herself closer to her husband's body. Gendry took the opportunity to mouth against her neck and rut with more fervor against his wife. 

"Gendry," she groaned over and over in between tiny gasps at each of his movements.

He groaned back as if he could not form words. 

She pulled his hair hard again, away from her neck. 

He looked up at her from the crux of her neck, the black of his eyes blown wide and his mouth wet and open. 

She felt another rush of desire wash over her at how a few minutes of kissing and touching could affect him so deeply. She was sure his expression was mirrored in her own for him to see. 

She wanted to tell him how much she loved him and how much she wanted this and how special this was for her, but she could not form any of those words in that moment, too full of rushing blood and desire for the man in her arms. 

Instead, she held his stare as she pulled away and then pushed his shoulder so he would lay flat on the bed. 

He gave her a confused look but went without resistance. 

Still holding his stare, Arya brought her leg over his waist again and pulled herself over him so that she straddled him. 

The look of awe on his face intoxicated her, and her hips began to grind down on him without thought. 

His hands came to rest on her hips. He gripped her firmly and slid her further down his body so she ground down on his arousal instead. Once in place, his eyes fluttered closed and his jaw hung open as his breath hitched and his grip tightened further in a way she knew should be painful but instead added to her pleasure. 

She stopped her hips and grabbed at his shirt to remove it. 

When Gendry came back to himself enough to realize what she was trying to do, he leaned up enough to pull his shirt off and tossed it off the bed. He slid them back to rest against the pillows and the headboard.

Arya took a moment to take in the new view. “I have never seen your chest before,” she said as her hands began roaming across it.

Just on his breath, “Yes, you have.” His hands held onto her hips.

“Not like this,” Arya said just as breathy.

In this position, with her in his lap and him laying back on the pillows, she towered over him.

Her hips sat so that her center rested on his hardened length. It was so very distracting as she tried to take in the wide expanse of his chest, for the first time hers to enjoy as she pleased.

Haired and muscled and heaving as he struggled for breath. He stared at her as her hands roamed across his collar bones and shoulders and sides and stomach. She was always distracted by his strong thighs, but his arms and chest held his strongest and most powerful muscles, from years of smithing as a boy and the last few years learning to wield a war hammer like his father. 

Her hand dug into the muscles of his bare chest, and he moaned. She experimentally dragged her dull fingernails over him, catching each nipple with a nail.

He jolted and threw his head back, grinding upwards into her. 

It sent a rush through her that compelled her to do more, anything to make him feel more.

She thought back to when she had touched him like this in Dorne. She wanted to make him feel good in the way she had and mean it in that way.

She leaned her mouth down to his chest and brought a tentative tongue to a nipple as her eyes looked up at his face, catching his gaze as he looked down at her with an unsure expression. 

It was evident that neither was entirely sure if this was something done or not, but Arya felt herself buzz with the idea of tonguing her husband in a way she had heard other women had enjoyed onto themselves. 

As her wet little tongue gave its second and more sure lick to Gendry's nipple, he sank into the pillows with a groan, bringing Arya with him. She began to lathe at him, first the one, then the other. Flicking with her tongue and occasionally grazing her teeth across them. Gendry moaned and moaned and moaned. It was the best sound she had ever heard.

Arya resumed grinding against Gendry's cock. If she hit the right angle, it sent jolts of sweet pleasure through her as well. Tragically, it was hard to focus on maintaining those angles while all her thoughts went to the work of her tongue. 

Gendry for his part ran his hands up and down Arya's back and sides in a frantic rhythm until he gripped her hips hard to pull her firmly against him as he raised his hips into her and groaned a deep groan that filled the room before he stilled completely, holding them close for a few moments. 

She was unsure what exactly had happened just then, but pride and satisfaction coursed through her at the pleasure she was bringing to Gendry. His desire for her was evident, and she had stoked it so well into pleasure for him. Oh, it felt good to make him feel good.

Arya stilled her tongue and looked up at his surprisingly pained face.

“Did it hurt?” She asked.

“No,” he rushed, still trying to catch his breath. He laughed breathily, “No. It felt good. Very, very good.” He then made an agonized sound that contradicted that very much.

“What now, husband?” She felt overwhelmingly energized and had little patience for anything other than kissing.

He twisted his head to the side with a pout. His thumbs rubbed circles into her hips. “I ruined tonight by being a bloody greenboy.”

 _Greenboy?_ she thought.

She looked down at their laps and took note that his length below her was softening. Ah. He had spent himself. The evening was over. The sweat on her skin felt uncomfortably cool. 

She lifted herself from him and laid down on her back just beside him.

 _Well,_ she reasoned with herself, _it has all been a marvelously enjoyable activity._

Gendry sat up with a quick peck to Arya’s cheek and a promise to be right back. He crossed the chamber to the washing basin, picking up a fresh pair of linen pants as he went.

At the sound of his stomping feet, Arya called, “Don’t fret, Gendry! We need not rush. We shall enjoy the practice, will we not?” Despite the sudden end to their fun, he had done nothing wrong besides enjoying their coupling.

He snorted from the basin as he splashed water on himself. He was loosely tying the laces of the fresh pants as he approached their bed and came into her sight as she remained lying. A wry smile twisted his lips. His warm eyes held her and helped assuage the frustration coursing under her skin. She had felt immense pleasure many times during their rutting, but all it did was leave her wanting more rather than satisfied. Mayhaps, it will be different when they join for true. She hoped it so.

“I enjoyed myself,” she assured again.

When Gendry continued to stand by their bed smiling, Arya patted his space beside her.

He sat and leaned down on his elbow to press a kiss to her brow and her cheek and finally her lips. 

She smiled into the kiss. But, as she felt her heart picking back up its rapid pace, she pulled away not wanting to leave herself even more frustrated for the night. 

She used her palm on his chest to push him back to lay down beside her, and she burrowed into his side.

After a moment in which he did not relax into the position, he turned over to face her.

The prospect of cuddling into his bare chest for the first time pleased her for only a moment before his arm wrapped around her and stroked her back, punctuating the gesture with a tentative squeeze of her bum. She jolted from it, aroused and surprised by the sensation.

Gendry hunkered his shoulders to dip his head toward hers. To which Arya turned her head away, just wanting to go to sleep by this point. She did not understand why he wanted to continue this teasing this night.

Gendry froze around her. “What’s the matter?” he asked softly. He sounded wounded, and that was the last thing she had meant to do, especially after such a wonderful experience with him. One that had been so long in the making.

“I’m going to sleep,” she whispered into his chest. Her hand rested on his side, and it gripped the flesh there. She smiled when she thought back on their kisses and the sounds they made together. She lifted her head to him. “Tonight was lovely. A very excellent end to my name day.” She kissed his jaw to emphasize their new closeness.

His brows knitted together as his mouth worked around unsaid words.

He took a steadying breath and began, “It’s not— we’re not— _you_ didn’t finish.” He implored her with his eyes. “You have yet to peak.”

Arya tilted her head in thought, “I peaked many times. There were several times I had great pleasure, as I was told a woman can experience.”

Gendry reared his head back and looked at her as if she had two heads.

His face looked so very pained in thought.

Slowly, he said, “From what I understand, there’s a big one. That you most like would have noticed.”

Arya frowned, not sure what to think but also intrigued by the prospect of an even greater pleasure. A pleasure that Gendry seemed intent on bringing her.

Gendry’s face filled with red as he prepared for his next question. A sight that amused Arya as she briefly wondered out of all that had happened this evening, what was to come next was what made him blush.

“’Ave ya ev’r touched yerself? Between yer legs?” 

She almost laughed at the way his old Fleabottom accent came out. It was so rare, as he had already been working to rid himself of it by the time they met at their wedding, that it took most of the embarrassment from her.

Still, she blushed lightly at his question. “No,” she admitted. “I did not realize I could do that. I thought it required a man.” A thought occurred to her. “Do you touch yourself?”

She had never seen even a hint or an inkling of him doing so. When could he have? Where?

His blush returned anew, and he nodded, meeting her eye. “Aye,” he confessed. “Often, too. Just not when yer around.”

Arya marveled at the thought. She had never noticed, never even thought to consider since they spent every night together. The idea incited a tug in her belly. Gendry taking himself in hand, making those sounds he had made for her earlier.

Arya ghosted her fingers along the muscles at his side making him wriggle and pout.

Their night had not in fact been prematurely ended but instead had only an interlude.

Gendry wanted to give her pleasure, but he had never touched a woman. Sansa had said that Margaery had said that she must direct him. Yet, how could she direct him if she did not know herself, her own body, enough to know for him to do? How could she guide a blind man while she herself was blind as well?

She wanted to feel tonight this immense pleasure of which Gendry spoke, and she also wanted to be able to know herself first, to learn her body first through herself, under her own guidance. 

Tickling Gendry again to his ire, Arya saw no reason both wants could not be satisfied this night.

“If you have touched yourself, and I have not, then I see myself at a disadvantage,” Arya began. Gendry opened his mouth, but she went on. “I want that chance as well.” Gendry closed his mouth, his eyes understanding and sympathetic. “Tonight.” His brows flew up, and she smiled.

She leaned to press a kiss to his lips, soft and lingering. She whispered against them, “Will you hold me while I do it? I feel so good in your arms.”

He shuttered. “Aye,” he said hoarse, and she smiled again. 

She felt drunk on him and his want for her. She felt that pull in her belly again and registered for the first time the slippery, wetness forming between her lower lips. She rubbed her thighs together and the wet slide made her eyes flutter closed.

Holding herself tight to Gendry with the arm beneath her wrapping around his shoulders and burying that hand in his hair, her other hand reached down to grip the fabric of her nightgown and pulled it up as high as she could in the position.

She noticed first the scent of her arousal on the air that the movement pushed up toward them. She wanted to breathe it in more, but her desire to touch won out.

Gendry’s arms tightened around her making it harder to pull her gown up to her waist, but she managed.

Her small cloths stuck to her from her sweat and the leaking between her legs. She pushed them down as best she could but gave up the task once they were out of the way just enough for her hand to slip beneath them.

She grazed her fingers through the tight curly hair that had been growing there since she had flowered. She had seen that Gendry had similar hair down there on a few occasions to little fanfare beside his bashfulness at her seeing, but this time the thought enflamed her. She wanted to feel that hair. Was it crinkly yet still soft like hers?

She dipped one slender finger between her lips about where she put the soft lamb’s wool when she bled and gaped at the dripping wetness she found.

It took some poking around, but her jaw dropped open as her finger entered herself for the first time. Saliva pooled in her mouth as her finger slid out so slick and smooth from her mounting wetness. 

Her eyes wanted to lose focus as she entered herself again and again so impossibly easy with her eager finger. 

But, she wanted to see Gendry. It would have been impossible anyway to ignore his groans as he held her and watched her make herself undone. He was no longer being touched, yet he sounded near to how he had when Arya had rocked above him, against him. He took pleasure from her pleasure and her finger went faster. 

She could no longer keep her eyes on his face, burying her face in the crux of his neck and mouthing at the skin there to appease the buzzing in her lips from the wonderful sensations.

It all felt so good; it felt so much. She was fire and light and everything and nothing, and she could feel herself approaching something but could not quite reach it. Then, she remembered that particular piece of flesh that Sansa had mentioned. 

She brought her finger, slick and raw and quick, out of her and up her slit and it was as if someone had punched her in the gut. She groaned low and hard and her finger swept up and down that nub in rapid, frantic movements. 

Her groan slowly morphed into a high keen as she went faster and faster and she could not breathe with how overwhelming it all was. But, that was worth it. Who needed air when there was pleasure so great coursing through her until—

And she was shaking and crying out and crushing her face into Gendry’s hot, wet neck. Her finger on her cunt suddenly hurt with how sensitive she had become so her movements ceased and her hand went up to grip Gendry’s arm that was wrapped tight around her. 

She took in huge gulps of air as she came down from her high. Her body shook and shook against him, each a wave of pleasure and warmth and she wanted to look upon Gendry’s face, to share in the wonder of the moment but her eyes would not open and she considered herself lucky to even be able to continue breathing. 

Gendry asked her a question but the sound of her breathing echoing in the nook of his neck and shoulder was too loud to hear his soft, low voice. She gathered her strength and power of will to lean back and finally look onto his face. Which was wrecked. His mouth was open and his eyes were black and there was a thin sheen of sweat despite him not having done much more than lay there for the last few minutes. She then noticed how his chest heaved as hard as hers.

“What did you say?” she asked, half dazed.

“I asked if you would mind if I touched myself as well?” He phrased it like a question, and it was surprisingly shy and formal of a request for how much heat with which he bore onto her from his eyes and for how debauched their entire evening had been.

“As long as I can watch,” Arya said, surprising herself more than him with her forwardness when in truth she mostly wanted to see how he did it so she would know how to do it to him. She was a studious student if nothing else.

Gendry swept down to plant a messy kiss to Arya’s lips. Before she could gather herself enough to respond with her own enthusiasm, Gendry’s arm that wrapped over her went to the laces of his breeches and worked at untying them. After a few fumbles, Gendry seemed to realize he would not be able to manage the task in his state with one hand and that his sleeping breeches were loose enough already to push them down far enough to pull himself from them. 

Arya had seen the penises of many different types of animals and small children. She had seen _his_ cock many times before, as he relieved himself in their chambers or as he changed his clothes or bathed. None of this had phased her as they were a part of life and nature. 

Gendry’s erect cock held loosely in his hand, red and tall and thick and stemming from that thatch of black hair, was so very, very different. The sight of him spitting into his hand and stroking himself vigorously, as if he couldn’t not, enraptured her. He began a long groan high in his throat that moved into his chest as his whole body tensed as it had earlier, and suddenly his shoulders jerked as a milky white release spurted from the tip of his cock onto his bare stomach.

As quickly as it began, it was over and Arya’s head was spinning with it all.

How fucking wonderful it had all been. 

Gendry laid back spent. The arm still wrapped around her tightened, bringing her closer. She draped herself over his side and pressed her face into his chest just under his chin. She peppered lazy kisses along his collarbone, interspersed with little licks to taste his skin and sweat. She caught a drop of his release that had managed to spray itself up high enough. Though it had no distinct flavor, it was saltier than his sweat and muskier than his skin but not unpleasant in the least. 

How so very interesting. All of it. Fucking. Fucking Gendry. Or as near as they would be doing so this night. It was all so much. So wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed the chapter count go up, this is because the smut got longer and had to be broken up. I hope you are not too upset haha
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!! I hope this lived up to the hype of a slow burn this long! <3<3<3<3<3<3<3


	5. King's Landing II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amidst her work for her kingdoms, Princess Arya takes time to collect herself and successfully learns more about her current subject.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for your kind comments and continued reading!! Please, enjoy Arya and Gendery's continued journey of discovery of love and exploration!
> 
> To anyone practicing social distancing, stay sane and keep reading fanfic instead of going out haha

The next morning, the newly intimate couple woke to the rising sun reaching into their chambers. 

Arya laid curled in Gendry’s arms, her face relishing in the feel of his bare chest. She lazily rubbed a leg up and down his. Their leg hairs tingled and tickled and Arya loved it all.

As Gendry came awake with her, he pulled her closer and nuzzled his face into her hair. He groaned a happy groan and then released her. 

“I enjoyed last night very much,” he informed her playfully.

“I know you did,” Arya smiled.

“And you?”

“Oh, yes. Thoroughly.” Arya smirked and Gendry leaned in to kiss it.

They had still yet to master this act, but they made up for it with enthusiasm. As long as Gendry’s tongue was on hers, Arya could not care less about the finesse or grace of their mouths. 

Gendry brought his knee between her legs and rocked it very gently. 

Arya moaned loudly into his mouth and her eyes rolled back into her head.

The knock on their chamber door shocked them both.

One would have hoped that the morning after a feast, a feast held for the name day of an occupant of that room, would have been allowed a few extra hours before being interrupted. 

Before the two could move apart, a chambermaid entered and made her way straight for the water basin to switch it with fresh water.

Without looking up, “Oh, don’t mind me, prince and princess. I’ll be right out of your hairs in just a moment. Just need to scooch through,” she glanced up at the bed and caught sight of two pairs of shocked young eyes locked in an embrace, only one dressed as far as she could tell. “Oh, Seven above! I do apologize!” She sloshed the basin she carried of fresh water as she tripped on her foot. Righting herself and noticing for the first time that the ceiling had etchings of the constellations of the King’s Crown, the Crone’s lantern, and the Red Wanderer set in the Moonmaid. Oh, how intricate and extensive. 

The door closed as the chambermaid left.

Arya noted that they would finally have reason to latch the door to the private room to their chambers.

She looked back to Gendry who was as red in the face as she had ever seen him. She brought a hand to his cheek and guided his face back to hers. He readily resumed their previous practice.

Practice. 

Arya pulled away. Gendry initially followed, but a hand on his chest stayed him.

“Last night was most wonderful, Gendry,” Arya blushed and smiled bashfully, recalling vividly the feel of his nipples under her tongue, the sight of his thick, red, hard cock in his hand, the smell of her sex as she rubbed herself. “But I think I really do want to practice by myself to learn my body myself.” She looked up at him through her lashes. His blush persisted but his eyes were understanding. “Would you be bothered to wait a little while longer until we continue?” She knew this was a lot to ask of him, especially after being the one to open this door only last night.

He nearly choked on his tongue for a moment but managed to right himself. “Of course not, Arya,” he breathed. “I can’t promise I won’t lose my mind thinking about ya touching yerself.” He shuddered and she laughed. “But, you can have as much or as little of me as you want, my love. Anything you want. Always.”

 _I love you._ The words sang from her heart, gushing and overflowing. “Thank you,” the words came out as instead.

She pecked his lips.

“I still want to kiss, though. I can only practice that with you.”

“I’d hope as much,” he grinned.

She laughed and pulled him down on top of her, a mess of giggles and limbs.

-

She had started her practice that very next day.

After she sent a raven to her sister.

_Thank you for wonderful advice. Put into use with fruitful results. Excellent results. Will update with further developments._

And, to Dorne, of course. Arianne would never forgive her if she did not.

_I am a woman grown. I decided it and made it so. Thank you for your words and zeal. Will update with further developments._

After she had finished with petitions and sending out ravens, and before Gendry had finished with the Small Council, Arya made her way to the private room of their chambers.

She sat at the foot of their bed and fell back with a heavy thump. She loosened the laces at her bodice and then pulled up her skirts by the handful as she stared up at the canopy over their bed. It was a splendid tapestry, brought in from Winterfell at her request. It told tales of the Kings of Winter, stories she had heard a hundred times when she was a girl.

Arya smiled to herself. She was a girl no more. 

She brought her legs up and pushed her small clothes up and over her knees, letting them drop to the floor. 

Closing her eyes, Arya brought her hand first to her thigh. Ghosting her fingers on the soft flesh raised the hairs on her leg pleasantly. Delving finally to her folds, Arya took a steeling breath.

It was far drier than the night before. No slick slides or wet squelches.

She tried rubbing harder, scrunching her eyes in the effort. Nothing.

She brought her finger to that hole, but it would not enter, too tight and dry and tender.

With a snarling huff, Arya sat back up. She slammed her fist on the bed and stood to put her small clothes back on. Her failed attempt felt like her failure. 

The rest of her day ran with a tumultuous current, like a coast with a storm that passed by but never reached the beach.

That was until she and Gendry reunited to sup in the evening, father, mother, and Bran joining as well. Their good humors lifted hers, and by the time she and Gendry retired to their bed, Arya had all but forgotten her frustrations from the afternoon. Especially when Gendry pulled her into his arms in their bed under their sheets and the same canopy that had witnessed her practice just a few hours prior. He pulled her into his arms with the sweetest questioning glance that she answered with hungry lips and eager hands.

This was right. Gendry, warm and firm and yielding to her every touch. His muscles would bulge and lax as he flexed in his movements to touch her anywhere she would let him, which was anywhere he would dare to venture, as far as she was concerned. He had yet to find an unpleasant place to put his hands, and she hoped there was none. And so it went.

Each day would begin and end with varying levels of kisses. Some mornings were soft and tender and spoke words the two knew were true but had not yet let aloud. Some evenings were heavy and smoldering and breathless and too much and not enough. 

The stolen kisses around the Red Keep were particularly delicious. Quick and intense and exhilarating. Gendry crowding her against a wall with little warning, or her him on a particularly memorable afternoon. He had returned from the Small Council irritable and contrite, and Arya saw fit to halt his vexing thoughts with more useful endeavors and questions. Like, how much force must a young woman exert to propel a man, a head and a half taller and near twice as wide, out of his stride and into a wall? And then, how hard must she pull his hair until his knees would begin to shake?

With increasing frequency, Gendry would grace her breasts with his hands. The first time, Arya brought his hands to them herself and was instantly rewarded with both the pleasurable sensations as well as the look of awe on Gendry’s stupid face. It was over her dress, and then over her nightgown, and then finally, _finally_ with his bare hands on her bare tits. His palms were rough but his touch was gentle and the skin of her breasts was so, so soft. 

Most encounters, Gendry would need to adjust himself in his trousers. Pulling at the fabric to make room or make himself more comfortable. Or finding himself rutting against Arya’s leg or hip or hand on one momentous occasion and then angling his hips away from her.

She could not bring herself to say it, but it almost physically pained her when he did that. So disappointed to her bones each time he would pull his hardened length away from being pressed against her. Oh, how it pleased her when it was pressed against her. She wanted to hold it in her hand. She had not been able to touch it that last time, and now the thoughts consumed her. They both encouraged her to continue her exploration as well as increased her frustration with herself for not managing to learn her body as well as she would have liked.

Her second attempt the next day at her practice yielded similar drastic results: dry and now irritated flesh. 

Her overly vigorous rubbing the day before left her folds too red and tender, the friction having been too wrong and unpleasant. She found herself once again splayed open and empty on her bed by herself.

She gave herself a few days to heal before she practiced again, reassured each day with Gendry as the pleasant warmth from their engagements and the wetness it would bring between her legs came to her without fail. She was not broken, she assured herself. She would simply need to discover how she would better coax these sensations from herself.

-

Nigh on a sennight later, Arya came to the idea that she was too tense and stressed to fully relax into her practice, putting too many expectations onto herself. 

After a long day of petitions and meetings and dinner with members of court she did not particularly care to dine, she decided to take a bath, hot and steaming and scented with herbs and flower buds. And wet. As wet as can be wet. She hoped it would make up for the lack of moisture she could bring to her lower lips herself.

After the handmaidens had drawn her bath and helped her wash her hair, Arya dismissed them to allow her to sit by herself for a while. Once they left, she sat back in the basin and rested her head on its lip. 

She ghosted her fingers down her stomach and probed them between her legs. The water helped her fingers slip up and down her lower lips with less painful friction than the last time, and the warmth eased the tension from her muscles. 

Her fingers felt nice, but they simply did not compare to the night she touched herself while in Gendry’s arms after she had brought him such great pleasure of his own.

Thinking about that night made Arya flush in that delightful way she had been craving. She tried to conjure back the memories of her and Gendry’s mixed warmth, the music of their shaky breaths as they kissed and moaned. 

She reached down once again beyond her curls and to her slightly slick flesh. It felt good. Better than it had in her last few attempts. She feathered her fingers up and down, up and down. She let out a sigh and tried to speed up. It all felt nice, but she could not feel herself working up to anything as she had with Gendry. Pulling her hand from between her legs, Arya smacked at the surface of the water in frustration. 

She wanted to be able to return to Gendry with better knowledge of her body, so she could teach him how to best touch her. But, she could not even do that! How was she to set the tone of their intimacy if she could not make herself feel good?

Getting out of the water and wrapping herself in a soft robe, Arya sat in a chair near the fire to dry her hair. It had been dark a few hours, so Gendry was likely to retire for the evening soon. 

He did not enjoy his baths too warm and the water was not too dirty, so he would likely use her water to bathe himself before bed. 

No sooner had she thought this, she heard Gendry’s heavy steps in the corridor, shortly followed by his entrance to their chambers.

He looked around the room for a moment before spotting her and smiling. “Arya,” he said as if it was the sweetest word his lips could dream to utter. 

Arya melted as she always did for her husband. She gestured to the basin of warm, but not hot, water and said, “The bath is just right for you if you would like to bathe before we retire to bed.”

Gendry began to unlace the belt of his jerkin, “I think I might do that. Will you help me wash my hair as not to call a servant?” He shucked off the jerkin, draping it over the nearest chair.

“Of course,” Arya replied from her seat.

He pulled at the ties of his tunic almost enough to slip it over his head. The neck of the tunic caught around his enormous head and Gendry was stuck. His shoulders slumped in defeat, and he weakly asked for help with a smile still in his voice.

Arya laughed and got up from her seat by the fire. “Of course,” she said again.

Being near a foot taller than her at the age of one and twenty to her seven and ten, she placed her hands on his hips and urged him down to a half squat so she could reach. She further unlaced the tunic around the neck, and Gendry was able to escape. His tunic falling to the floor, he smiled a dopey smile at Arya and smacked her lips with his in a quick kiss. Arya could not keep the giggle from escaping at her silly husband. 

Gendry continued to disrobe as he asked her about her day. Winter had begun in earnest. Down in King’s Landing, there would still be no need for heavy cloaks and furs like in the North, but more layers had become necessary to stave off the chill. He pulled the loose shirt of his small clothes from his chest with far greater ease and then began on the laces of his breeches. 

Early in their travels through Westeros, the two had realized that modesty was a foolish endeavor on the road, even with the amenities of a royal convoy. They had developed an understanding and a comfort dressing and undressing without sexual connotations. It had been successful for the near three years of their marriage, and for the most part had been holding strong for the last few days as their relationship had taken a development into more sexual territory. 

This made it rather usual for Gendry to pull down his breeches and his small clothes with Arya so near. She did as she had always done and did not try to look at his fully nude body as he situated himself into the large washing basin, focusing instead on sharing her day with him. 

After she finished petitions with father, she had joined Bran for his squire duties in the morning. In the afternoon between meetings, she responded to the many letters she and Gendry had received from family, friends, and allies.

Two had been of particular interest, both enthusiastic replies from Sansa and Arianne.

As Arya finished describing the letters she had written that day, leaving those two to herself, she pulled the stool the handmaidens had used for her hair to the basin so she could wash Gendry’s hair as they had done. 

She then began recounting a humorous encounter that evening with a new cook in the kitchen who went by the name Hot Pie.

“Hot Pie?” questioned Gendry as Arya tapped his shoulder so he would dunk his head to wet his hair.

“Hot Pie” Arya confirmed when he resurfaced. “He started as a baker’s apprentice in Flea Bottom, but his pies and breads were so good that he made his way to the kitchens of the palace. Said he doesn’t remember his real name, but ‘this one is good as any,’” she finished trying to imitate the young man. 

Arya lathered her hands with the scented and oiled soaps. Gendry leaned his head over the lip of the tub for Arya. He must have been responding to her, but she could not hear him as she was struck by how reminiscent his position was to the one she was in just a short while ago as she failed to pleasure herself. She also finally registered that her tall, muscular, and yet gentle husband sat before her naked and wet and warm. She had a realization of what had been missing from her endeavors.

Gendry turned his head around and blinked at Arya, clearly noticing her lack of response and that she had yet to begin to wash his hair despite the soap ready in her hands. “Is everything alright?”

She turned his head back around in response so he could rest it on the lip of the basin once again. “Actually, I want to talk to you about another part of my day today. A problem I think you might be able to assist me with.”

He hummed in contentment as Arya finally began to lather the soap into his hair. She had thought it had been long when they first married and the hair from the top of his head could touch his ear. Since then, he had grown it even longer so that the tips touched just past his shoulders. At formal events, he would tie the top half back with a simple leather strap, reminiscent to the way her father put his own hair back. To most, it must have seemed like nothing. But to those close to court or the royal family, they knew it was indicative of how much Gendry looked up to the man and how much he emulated Lord Eddard Stark far more than his own father, for which they all knew the kingdom was better off.

She scritched her nails against his scalp and moved toward his temples, making him moan long and deep. Arya smiled and blushed at his shows of satisfaction and pleasure.

“Anything you need of me, dear wife, I will do for you,” Gendry intoned as his eyes rested shut and his mouth hanged open in relaxation.

Arya was unsure if she should make this playful or serious, so she tried to walk the line between the two. “As I am sure you recall our night of passion just a few nights ago,” she began.

Gendry’s leg jolted underwater, and she could nearly hear his blush rise to his face. “Aye,” he replied unsurely.

“Well, I wanted to try to practice by myself to better learn my body as you said you have been learning yours over the years.”

She felt his shoulders tense and then relax as he let out a big breath. “Aye,” he acknowledged.

Arya ran her fingers through his hair from root to tip. “But I could not get myself in the same state as I had been in that night to reach the same peak that I did with you.”

Gendry only shivered in response. She could not see his face, but she imagined it was the scrunched up face he always made when thoughts were racing both too fast and forming too slow.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and squeezed them as she leaned down to his ear to murmur, “And, I only just realized what I was missing was you.”

She released his shoulders and before he could turn to face her, she tapped his shoulder again for him to rinse the soaps from his hair. He sank under the water and stayed there for so long that for a hysterical moment, Arya worried he had perished under there. When he resurfaced, he gasped for air and reached up to wring out some of the water from his hair.

He turned as much as he could in the basin to Arya and the sight of him, wet and muscular and backlit by the warm, orange light of the fire, took Arya’s breath away.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, seemingly at a loss for words.

Arya had been enjoying being more playful with this but could see how it unseated poor Gendry. She took pity on him.

“To be more plain, Gendry, I cannot seem to get myself excited and ready enough to touch myself properly without your help. So, if it would be agreeable to you, would you kiss me and hold me like you did that night so I may try again to touch myself and better learn my body?” 

Arya felt her cheeks burn with her shyness, despite knowing Gendry would never refuse this. In fact, she was sure he would be eager to help her in this way, but this was all still so new and so difficult to speak of so openly without embarrassment. 

Gendry held himself in his twisted position as he gave her the same open-eyed stare he had given her just a few nights ago when she first told him she was ready to begin laying with him as man and wife. He looked equal parts determined and dumbfounded. He looked at her as if he saw straight into her soul, and it felt good to feel so seen by someone she loved so much.

“Anything you want, Arya,” he said with absolute conviction. “Anything, always.”

She leaned in to kiss him, and he met her lips with a soft eagerness that she could feel in her toes.

She pulled back, and Gendry’s lips tried to follow. Arya smiled at his dazed look as he realized she stopped kissing him. “But, first,” Arya tapped her husband’s warm cheek affectionately, “you need to wash your body and come to bed.”

Gendry turned around in the basin with such enthusiasm that nearly half the water seemed to slosh out. He hardly seemed to notice as he reached to grab the block of sweet-smelling soap and began to scrub at all the skin he could reach. 

Arya stood from the stool to retrieve a large robe for Gendry and a soft linen to dry his hair since it was evident that he would not wait patiently by the fire until it dried from its warmth. 

She returned to him as he stood from the water facing away from her. She raised the robe open for Gendry as he turned his head to see her. When he stretched his arms behind himself to slide them into the sleeves of the robe, Arya lowered the robe back down closer to herself and made an exaggerated show of appreciating his arse, which was on full display for her. And, oh was it a beautiful arse to behold, tight and muscular. She had never fully afforded herself a good look at it, and what a shame that had been.

Gendry laughed and made to grab at her, scolding, “Come here, woman.”

Arya laughed with him and complied, allowing him to finally slide his arms through the sleeves. He tied a loose knot in the belt across his middle and turned around to step from the basin and then pull Arya into his arms.

She buried her face into his plush chest. At the beginning of their marriage, when he was still fresh from his apprenticeship in the forge, his chest and arms had been noticeably harder and more muscular. After a few years with the diet and lifestyle of a highborn, he had grown more meat on his body. The strength and muscles were all still there, but now covered in a healthy growth of flesh, though nowhere near to that of his father. He was healthier, and Arya benefitted in this greatly as she held her body against his and felt it yield just enough to mold herself to but then came to the hard muscles that excited her to no end.

His wet hair began to drip down onto her, so she pulled away enough to hand him the linen for his hair. He took it and vigorously rubbed it through his hair, tossing it aside with a wide grin and looking like a dog that had shaken out his wet fur.

-

Sitting in the middle of the bed in their robes, they kissed as they had for the last several days. Heated and eager and pulling something from deep within Arya that she wanted to explore with Gendry.

She could feel her wetness pooling between her legs, and she smiled against Gendry’s lips. He smiled back. 

Arya kissed down his jaw and to his neck. There, she breathed in the perfumed water and soaps and Gendry’s unique scent all mixed and swirled in her head. Wanting to be more level, Arya brought Gendry down with her to lay on their sides facing each other. She pressed the line of her body against his, from the abundant planes of his chest to his hard, haired shins with her favorite hardness pressed hot at her middle, which demanded with no words to be touched and held just right.

At first, they rutted against each other, both writhing and letting out tiny grunts and squeaks of pleasure.

Arya could tell he wanted to rut harder and faster. His tensed muscles and the way his fingers pressed a little too hard into her back and how the sounds coming low in his throat belied his desperation. 

It pulled at her heart and her lower stomach, followed by more arousal dripping from her body. To feel so wanted by Gendry but to also have him stay himself to give her exactly what she wanted over what he wanted in that moment gave her both clarity of mind and a feral desire she could not temper. 

Not being able to bear it any longer, Arya reached through the flaps of her robe and straight to her throbbing cunt. She moaned in relief and pleasure as her finger slid through her folds. She quickly found that favorite spot, already coated with wetness to her utter delight.

With only a few swipes, her body wracked with waves of pleasure, finding their way out when she could contain them no longer as moans fell from her lips one after the other. She bit Gendry’s shoulder to anchor herself through the onslaught. He groaned from it and bucked his hips.

Still catching her breath, Arya clung to Gendry with her other arm. Gendry’s arm brushed her arm, which was resting limply between her legs, on its way to his hard cock. The heat rolling off his body both soothed and invigorated her. 

She pulled her head back and met his heavy eyes. She saw the question in them and nodded with a half-dazed smile.

Gendry took his cock into his large hand and loosely stroked it from root to tip and dropped his head onto the pillow with a low groan. 

Arya pushed his shoulder so he was laid on his back and tucked herself into his side for a more comfortable view. After spitting into his hand, Gendry began his efforts again with a truer, though still loose, grip.

It was a fantastic sight, only outdone by the look on his face. It looked almost as if he was in pain, but it was his own hand doing exactly as he liked so it must have felt good. When he caught her eyes, the blacks were blown wide. She felt as if she had been punched in the gut. He was glorious. With the heat he cast off him and his hot, wet breath blowing out in huffs in time with his rapid strokes. For a brief, insane moment, she wanted to stop him so she could climb his body and stick his cock inside her that very instant. She only barely resisted the urge to voice the desire, as Gendry was very clearly close to his end like she had been so quick to hers and she knew the coupling would not last when he was in this state.

Arya could not, however, resist his lips. She sat herself up on her elbow and kissed him hard, her tongue slipping into his mouth greedily. He met her tongue with his. It was sloppy and wet and uncoordinated but neither could give a damn.

Wanting to resume watching Gendry pull himself off, she pulled back from the kiss and turned her head down his body. In her position, her robe had fallen open and her chest placed just before his face, still turned to her.

With only a whiny groan as a warning, he started ardently laving and gently sucking on the breast closest to him. Arya’s jaw dropped at the shocking pleasure it sent through her, like a jolt between her legs. She grabbed his head with her free hand and held his face to her chest, her entire focus shifting to his new work on her. 

Gendry tensed hard and groaned against her, and she could feel his spill leave drops on her side. After only a moment, he resumed his ministrations with his tongue, wrapping his arm around her middle and turning their bodies so he hovered over her, his robe curtaining around them. He kneeled between her legs and held himself up on his elbows to stay close, never stopping his mouth from wreaking more pleasure through her and switching his mouth to the other breast. 

She reached down again and slid one and then soon a second finger into her dripping wet cunt and her hips rose on their own to take in more, to feel more stretch. She pumped as hard and fast as Gendry had done to himself, and she gripped his hair in what she distantly worried was too hard. Gendry did not stop her, so she did not care at that moment. 

She felt his softened cock bobbing against her soft inner thigh as her hips rolled with her hand, and her fingers slipped out of her and up her folds. She rubbed her spot for only a few swipes before she peaked again, harder and more violently. She felt a washing sensation starting from the base of her skull and wash down her back through her limbs and to the tips of her fingers and toes.

As her shaking and gasping subsided, Gendry slowed his mouth to a stop and laid a portion of his weight on her as he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight as she attempted to return herself to this world. His weight and warmth anchored her and she clutched him tight as she caught her breath.

He rolled them to their sides, pressing loose kisses onto her face and hair and neck. Arya lifted her chin to return his kisses, soft and easy and unrushed.

Distantly, she took notice of his sticky spill pressed between them, the lingering wetness dripping between her legs, the drying sweat across their bodies. They would need to cleanse themselves before they fell to sleep. But for a few more moments, Arya wanted to bask.

When her heartbeat subsided and she could feel Gendry’s do the same, she began to play with his chest hair with her clean hand. She noticed a few drops of his spill had dried and matted the hair where it had reached. She picked at it curiously to Gendry’s chagrin.

“That’s gross,” he complained, but he did not move to stop her so she did not entirely believe him. The way she felt his heartbeat pick up once again also did not align with his words.

Focusing on the hairs beneath her fingertips, Arya began, “You told me you touch yourself. Often.”

Gendry spluttered above her, and she beamed up at him. He was too much, always.

“Mayhaps.”

“How do you like it done?” she asked.

His shoulders tensed and he only looked a little unhappy at the question, so Arya counted that as an improvement.

“I usually like it with some oil or in the water during a bath to slicken my grip, but,” he gave an abortive half shrug with a shy half-smile, his eyes watching her fingers in his chest hair. “Helping prepare you for your own touch and then holding you in my arms as you did, it brought me right to the edge, where I could forego other help. When I was a boy, long before your father found me and brought me to the castle when I was still just a newly made armorer’s apprentice, my cock would get hard all the time without my permission.” They both laughed. “I was too poor to afford any fancy oils and too young and focused on my smithing to go to a brothel. As I got a little older, the options for a poor bastard who still didn’t want to go to the brothels were limited, but I made do with spit and desperation.” They both laughed again.

Arya let out a happy sigh and met his eye. “How do you get yourself aroused to the point you can touch yourself without me there?” Gendry balked, but she ignored him. “That’s what I struggled with over the last few days. I could not warm my blood without you.”

She watched Gendry chew on his words for a few moments, giving him the time he needed. She understood the talking bit was hard for him.

“I think about you mostly. Or, entirely, if I’m being honest with myself,” he admitted. “At first, not really. You were just a girl, and I didn’t have these kinds of feelings for ya. But, I’ve said before, a lot of that is all automatic. I wake up, it’s there. I touch it, it goes away.” He shrugged again. “Then, ya started gettin’… more womanly.” 

Arya laughed at his word choice and his discomfort with it. She never took much notice of the changes in her body other than the need for the seamstresses to let in more space in her clothes at the bust and hips. Arya quieted herself at a stern look from Gendry. 

“And then ya started gettin’ all wiggly and touchin’ me in places, and I knew ya weren’t meanin’ anything by it, but it still had its effect.” He was red and frowning but also smiling.

“You poor, lad,” she mock cooed and cupped his jaw with her hand.

He snorted. “Mock all ya like, I’d do it all again if it made ya happy.” He dipped his head to press a kiss to her lips.

What could she say to that? Stupid, sweet man. “If it makes you feel any better, ever since Highgarden, I’ve been toiling over how much I’ve wanted you but not feeling ready until my name day. So, I’ve been just as frustrated as you without even knowing I could touch myself. No relief!” She smiled at him through her lashes.

He smiled devilishly at her, and her heartbeat sped up in anticipation. “That makes me very happy. Especially the thought of ya touch touching yerself now.” Arya laughed and then yelped as his hand reached behind her and gave a squeeze to her robe covered bum.

-

The next day, Arya took inspiration from Gendry in more ways than one. 

When she went to touch between her legs by herself, she thought of Gendry. Of his strong arms and the heat that rolled off him and the way his mouth had felt on her breasts. She also brought her other hand to her breast to help the memory.

She laid once again at the foot of their bed, so close to where these memories had been made. With her dress hitched up around her waist, her small clothes dangling off one ankle, and her cunt open to the sunlight and the room around her. This time, wet and wanting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed!


	6. Westeros I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With affection blossoming and intimacy blooming, the prince and princess settle into their lives and roles in King's Landing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I have not updated since March, so I apologize profusely for the delay! My city is still on Stay at Home Orders and while one would think the newfound many hours in my home would mean one is more productive in writing, this has been proven to not be the case haha
> 
> To everyone struggling and fighting the good fight, I am sending out good vibes and I hope this helps just a little bit if for nothing more than a short distraction from the hard stuff.
> 
> That said, there are two very explicit love scenes. This chapter was initially supposed to contain more story but now is a bit hornier than I meant it to be. I know this story started as T, so for anyone whom sex scenes are not their cup of tea, it's graphic but nothing intense. I am considering making a SFW version of YFLMOMS, so if anyone is interested in that, let me know!

Lady Catelyn Stark split her time between Winterfell with Robb and King’s Landing with Arya and father. Though, currently, she was on a lengthy jaunt to the Reach to be with Sansa for the later months of her pregnancy and the birth of her babe.

With the brunt of winter nearing and bringing with it unpassable drifts of snow tens of feet high for wide swaths of time, she would make a final trek north to aid Robb in his first winter as Lord of Winterfell. 

Before then, on her last return, she brought little Rickon to King’s Landing with her.

He was fierce and wild and could be shockingly tender, and Arya and Bran adored him, showering him with their affection and arguably wise tutelage. 

Bran never turned down a request to play swords in the courtyard of the Red Keep with the boy of two and ten.

Arya showed him the art of the bow and arrow. Rickon took to it like a wolf to the woods, and Arya could not have been more proud of her littlest brother. 

However, try as they may, Rickon had eyes only for Gendry. Anytime the two found themselves out of doors together, Rickon would beg and cajole the man who stood over six feet tall until he would kneel and allow Rickon to clamber up his back and sit atop his shoulders.

“We’re ready for battle,” the not-so-small boy would declare to a laughing Gendry. The staff of the castle would smile but steer clear of the hulking monstrosity with eight limbs and two wills.

With only Robb, Jon, and Sansa missing, it was the most family Arya had had in one place in a very long time. She relished in it, enjoying evening meals most nights in her father’s solar with everyone gathered and laughing and arguing. 

Bran could bring a smile to anyone’s face, and Rickon seemed endless in bouncing energy, his antics the source of many tears of mirth. Together, the duo should have started a mummer’s troupe.

Mother was still a bit of a mystery to Arya. She still tutted at Arya’s northern style of braids so far south and occasional donning of breeches when not in formal attending. However, Arya had seen too much of the world, met too many people who made their own paths to great success, to then wilt at her mother’s titherings at a lack of propriety. There was bookish Shireen, audacious Arianne, and laughing Sansa. Each so different, and each so effective. In truth, Lady Catelyn was another powerful lady whom Arya respected and emulated. Arya knew the right path for her was to find her own no matter what others thought.

Father remained a source of strength and education. They spent each day in petitions together, Arya taking increasing command in the role. On several occasions, Arya took petitions herself with excellent success, of which she was immensely proud. 

So proud was she on one such day, Arya declined for herself and Gendry to join her family for dinner, instead dining in their private chambers.

-

The heat of the room’s crackling fire licked at her back as the heat of Gendry’s smoldering body pressed against her ass and legs as she sat atop his thighs. The rough hairs of his legs scratched against the tender flesh of the back of her legs, a fantastic contradiction to the slick, smooth feel of his oiled cock in her fists. 

She gripped him with both hands stacked, flicking her wrists in opposing directions just as he showed her he liked best. Each huffy groan he let out sent a tiny shock of pleasure straight to her cunt.

The heat of his gaze as he watched her work him with focus and fervor burned her front, ensconcing her in all directions in the most delicious combustion that there ever was.

Gratification washed through her when he spilt on her hands and both their chests with a guttural moan. It was curiously similar to the way she felt after a particularly good bout of sparring. Gendry huffed and sweated as if he had just won his own bout as well.

He sat up from the pillows to lick his seed from her breasts, and Arya moaned up into the canopy overhead and buried her soiled hands in Gendry’s long locks. 

Over the last turn of the moon, they had shared in their pleasure, taking turns watching the other find their bliss, exactly eight times since Arya had first requested of Gendry to hold her for her explorations of her ministrations. 

They had managed to continue to push their newfound intimacy even as her moonblood came. Pressed to her back, Gendry held Arya in his arms as they slept. He laid a large, heavy, warm hand to her belly to soothe the thunder which would strike most fiercely there. 

It had been so tender that it had brought tears to her eyes. This frightened Gendry until she explained that he had only made her heart feel so full that her affections were forced to spill forth. He had blushed and called her ridiculous. Arya had felt ridiculous, not usually so affected by her moonblood. It had been the newness of it all. Being held by Gendry, being soothed and cared for. She had never felt safer than rapped in his thick arms. His body lulled her to sleep as they bathed gently in the cool light of a waxing gibbous moon.

To her humor and consternation, he still demurred in the morning when they woke to him poking her backside with his sleep-hardened length. 

This night, however, Gendry did not demure when he lifted his head from Arya’s chest and used a hand to bring her face to his to kiss her with the musky taste of his seed sharp on his tongue.

Arya moaned again and rutted against his legs to alleviate the demanding pressure between her legs.

Gendry pulled back, and—without a drop of the bashfulness of those soft mornings where he would forget in his sleepy haze that Arya feared neither his cock nor its eagerness but instead with a desperation that made Arya feel powerful and that he was entirely at her mercy to do with exactly as she pleased and more—he begged, _begged_ , her to let him touch her. To let him feel her wetness for himself. To be inside her with his fingers for the first time as he had watched her do to herself so many times before.

“I want to make you feel good. _Please_.” Sweeter words had never fallen upon her ears.

“Yes, Gendry. _Yes_ ,” she managed through heavy breaths. 

They both watched as Gendry brought a shaking hand between them. With his middle three fingers, he grazed them lightly over the curly hairs that covered her sweet lower lips.

It sent a shiver up her spine with a small gasp. 

Turning his hand just so slightly, Gendry went lower and pushed his first two fingers through the thick hair to the folds hidden within, slick and hot and inviting. 

He found her favorite spot with ease, having diligently watched her work it so fervently to perfect agony. Arya keening above him was all the reassurance he needed to continue. They watched his hand, the world around them falling away leaving only heat and touch and wanting.

She rocked with him, pushing harder onto his hand. His pace was too slow, too measured, but the burn of craving more singed too deliciously for her to urge him to move faster. She let out a tiny, whining mewl with each swipe of his fingers, becoming louder as the minutes went on.

On a swipe down, his fingers continued their path until they reached her entrance. 

Swirling his two fingers around the circle of the entry, Gendry looked up at Arya. 

She nodded her permission but added, “One finger first. Yours are much larger than mine.”

She expected a light chuckle, but he nodded seriously.

Slowly, he slid his first finger inside her. Arya sighed as he went. She was so slick and wanting that his finger was met with no resistance. He pumped his finger in deliberate movements until Arya whispered, “Another.”

He readily obeyed.

Even slower, he pushed two fingers into Arya’s cunt, and she groaned, growing louder with every inch farther he went.

He stilled his hand as Arya panted, his eyes darting between her face and her cunt.

“Good?” he asked, frustratingly unmoving.

She made a derisive sound before she began to fuck his hand herself.

He was deeper and thicker than she ever could have managed herself. It felt strange and tight, but that pleased her all the more. 

With each new step they took together, the newness of it had yet to cease to delight and ignite her.

Arya knew she was being loud. She knew she most likely sounded animalistic and ridiculous, but she could not find it in her to give a _fuck_. 

Gendry did his best to hold his hand steady but his fingers pliant for her. What finally undid her was when his thumb joined and rubbed circles into her most sensitive folds as best it could while Arya took her pleasure. 

She rolled her hips and she rolled her hips and Gendry rubbed her and he rubbed her and—

His fingers inside her as she peaked intensified everything as she clenched and unclenched and clenched over and over. Her hips and shoulders shook in spurts of pleasure and her cunt throbbed with it all.

Gendry’s thumb slowed but kept on, just as her own fingers had done as he had watched before.

He stopped only when she lifted herself and he pulled his hand free. 

Arya fell forward against him, spent and pleased.

He fell back hard against the pillows bringing her with him.

Arya laid atop her husband as a heaving mess of a woman. She pulled in gulps of air saturated with the scent of their lovemaking. Sweat and arousal and woodsmoke and Gendry. She wanted to bottle this scent and breathe it in whenever her heart felt low or when she needed to feel like she was home. 

Because that was what it felt like. Loving Gendry. Being loved by Gendry. The evidence of that love sticky and tangible between them.

A heavy hand brushed back the hair from her face.

She wanted to tip her head and kiss him until he forgot his name. She truly did. However, she could barely remember her own name and her head was so very comfortable exactly where it was on his perfectly plump tit.

-

The next day, Arya finished taking petitions with father, passed him along to Gendry for the Small Council Meeting with a kiss on the cheek for each man, and made her way to the stables of the keep. 

The Sand Steed mare Obara gifted her was a magnificent beast. It had the softest coat Arya had ever felt on a horse and its eyes were more intelligent than she had ever seen on an animal, save for Nymeria. 

Visiting and caring for Argella was melancholic and grounding for Arya. 

She neared the stable with her horse, and Argella already had a visitor with red hair and, as he turned to greet her, an easy smile. Though, upon greater scrutiny, one would be more inclined to describe it as a smirk.

"Sister," Bran greeted.

"Brother," Arya replied, reaching up to hug her now much taller younger brother. At five and ten, he stood a head taller than Arya. As Gendry was just over a head and a half taller than Arya, she held that she was still unimpressed with his growth when he would try to boast of it. "What brings you to the stables?" she asked as they parted. "I would have thought you would be attending to the training grounds this afternoon, like a good little squire?"

His lips made a funny move. "Ser Rodik is assisting the Lord Commander with a private matter presently. Indeed, otherwise, yes, I would be with the other squires training. My Ser will not know I missed them until later, and, as another matter has come to my attention which I deemed far more of interest to my humors, I have chosen to instead come upon my sweet sister and share with her that which she would most like not want to hear but that which I would very most like for her to hear."

"By the old gods and the new, Bran, spare me this torturous death by your words." Arya approached Argella and petted her muzzle. She shook out her cream-colored mane and then leaned into Arya's hand.

Ser Rodik Harlaw, cousin to Rodrik 'the Reader' Harlaw, had a similar penchant for words. He was a verbose man and encouraged it greatly in others. As his squire, Bran had been a quick study and had subsequently become entirely unbearable whenever he so much as opened his mouth.

Bran snickered and hunkered closer. Mildly surprised by his movements, Arya dropped her hand to her side and stepped closer to Bran.

"There is word I have heard among the knights of the Kingsguard," Bran spoke quietly and with a lilt that Arya distinctly did not like. 

"Soldiers are prone to gossip. There is no older truth," Arya dismissed, narrowing her eyes at Bran and how his smile widened.

"Is true. Choice gossip is valued above steel to an armored man, and the most choicest words this day—“

"That can’t be a word."

“—pertains to that which may interest you."

Arya landed a swift jab to Bran's gut, doubling him over. She whispered in his ear, "I spar with the Baratheon heir. Do not forget my strength as you grow taller and learn to fill your mouth with uselessness. I get enough of that in court."

Bran laughed through his light wheezing and used a hand on Arya's shoulder to support himself as he recovered. "Yes, yes. I had forgotten, and I thank you for the remembrance."

" _Brandon_." She would beat the pontificating out of him if necessary.

Entirely unchastened, "Fine," he acquiesced. "The guards posted at your chambers last night heard your loud bedly activities, and it's all the Kingsguard can talk about today."

Arya missed her chance to deny the gossip the moment her face filled with blood and her tongue forgot how to work. Bran hooted at her blush, and she wished she had the capacity of function to strike him again.

To have been struck down where she stood would have been a kinder mercy than the hot embarrassment that washed over her. 

“But worry not, they speak only well of you and your dear prince husband,” Bran’s voice was pitched high from his mirth, and Arya’s fists were remembering how to punch. “They said they've never heard an honest moan come through the king's doors, but everything last night rang true and well made. So, good on Gendry."

“When did you become such a shit?” Arya reached to attempt to lock her arm around Bran’s neck and pull him into submission, but he snaked an arm heavily around her shoulders in a mock genial embrace.

“The knights are all proud of him! Myself as well! He did right by you! Left you be as a lass. I was young, but even I understood at least some of what that meant when Robb and Jon drank and joked with him during the welcome feast at Winterfell. Now grown, from how the guards make it to be, he does right by you in new ways.” He waggled his brows at Arya’s horrified face. “And, you him as well.”

If either had had a sword on them at that moment, Arya would have struck Bran and then herself down right there in the stables. She would have to begin wearing one and have a holster fashioned to fit against her leg under her skirts for when ceremony and convenience prevented a full sword from sitting at her hip. Gendry could forge the blades for her.

Arya focused on those pleasant thoughts rather than now knowing that the knights of the keep were speaking freely and happily of the sounds Gendry and she had made the night before in the throes of passion.

“Have you no shame?” Arya shrilled as quietly as she could. “You speak of your sister’s marriage bed.”

“Shame for such speakings are for elder brothers. As a younger, it is my sworn duty to put aside such qualms for myself in favor of putting you out of sorts,” he said, enjoying the sound of his voice far, far too much.

Arya groaned, and Bran signed with a smile.

“ _Arya_ ,” he jostled her shoulders and let a kiss unto her brow. “Let us saddle your beautiful horse and my adequate one and see how they compare. I’ve had my fun, now it is your turn to put me back in my place.”

Arya shucked Bran’s arm from her and threw the words over her shoulder as she strode into Argella’s stable, “I’m going to make you cry.”

Bran scrambled to the stable with a spare training horse.

-

Nigh on a month later, not without many more brotherly teasings from Bran as the fuel for the kingsguard’s gossip continued, daily petitions included a new guest.

A courtesan from Braavos.

She entered the hall in swaths of gossamer cloths of brilliant colors draped her body, cinched at her arms and waist. Young handmaidens followed behind her to carry the long train of her gown. Her steps were sure and her eyes held a promise of secrets. 

She held her chin high as she approached the Princess and the Hand of the King of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.

She bowed in a flowing motion, keeping her eyes locked with Arya’s as she went. She waited patiently to be announced, her handmaidens flanking her quietly with their heads raised but their eyes downcast.

The steward spoke out, “The Merling Queen comes on behalf of the Magistrate of Braavos to offer her services to the royal family.”

Father coughed painfully into his hand. 

Arya turned from the courtesan to father and watched him run a hand down his face with his eyes cast to the ceiling. She followed his eyes for a moment before realizing he was not seeing anything in particular. 

Rolling her eyes, Arya turned back to the Merling Queen, who continued to wait patiently, taking in Arya and her father’s every move and expression with a placid but confident smile.

Arya spoke first. “Welcome. Is this your first time in Westeros?”

The Merling Queen eyed Arya from the crown of her head to the tips of her leather boots peeking out from beneath her skirts where she sat beside her father on the dais. 

She grinned and bowed again, holding Arya’s stare as she went. “Thank you, princess,” she greeted. “This is the first time I have had the pleasure to visit your lands. And, what wonderful lands they are. Bountiful and blossoming, even in the beginnings of a winter. I have heard their duration can never be known until Spring has begun, unlike in Braavos where the seasons come and go with the year.”

The paint on her lips and cheeks and eyes mesmerized Arya. She presumed that was their purpose. The courtesan’s words flowed like a song with an unheard tune. 

Arya wished not to admit that she knew not the difference between a whore in a brothel and a courtesan in a pillow house. Arya had never met a whore, not that she knew. She had no comparison. However, she did indeed know the nature of what services a courtesan would offer. 

From a Westerosi lord or lady, this would have been the greatest insult. To bring forward, in the court no less, such blatant acknowledgment of the king’s most disgraceful vice would have cost them their seat in their lands if not their head from their shoulders.

From Braavos, however, if Arya was to understand correctly, prostitution was more akin to a trade than a shame.

As such, Arya knew to accept this gift as exactly such, despite father’s embarrassment for his friend receiving a professional fucking as a public diplomatic favor.

“Thank you. I am pleased you find the Crownlands pleasant. If you have the opportunity before you return to Braavos, I would encourage you to explore more. Each of the Seven Kingdoms differs greatly and are beautiful in their own rights.”

“Thank you, princess.” Her voice held an artfully practiced warmth. 

The more Arya looked at the woman, the more she desired to know. She had never met a woman like her. 

“You come on behalf of the Braavosi Magistrate?” Arya prompted to better understand what exactly the courtesan was offering and to whom.

“Yes, princess. To broker goodwill before the upcoming talks of adjusting tariffs,” from the edge of Arya’s eye, she saw her father nod ever so slightly. She had not known of those talks and would inquire further later. “The magistrate has asked me to provide my services to the king or preferably the prince.”

Arya’s brows shot up. “The prince?”

“Yes, princess.” Her stare and voice remained unwavering.

Arya saw her father adjust himself in his seat and try to interject, but she spoke before he could, “You mean to mock me in my keep?”

The Merling Queen’s head tilted and her brows pulled together in genuine confusion. “Of course not, princess. I simply offer my expertise to the future King of the Seven Kingdoms, the man far more involved in the talks with Braavos than the current king.”

Arya believed her, but her heart still raced hard in her chest. She willed as best she could the heat in her face to leave her, but she could not. 

The Merling Queen remained steadfast but earnest, “In Braavos, intimacy with a courtesan is not seen as a dishonor to a wife. It is seen as one seeking an expert from whom to experience honed skills and fine work. You would be welcome to join, of course. The pursuit of pleasure is my profession, however that may be.”

Her description of her work was fascinating to Arya. Truly, she wanted to hear more, but the words stayed only as a hum in her ears as she envisioned another’s hands on her Gendry. It stayed her tongue as she continued to take in the Merling Queen.

Father intervened when Arya’s silence allowed him an opportunity to finish the petition without further discussion.

The royal family and the Hand of the King thanked the Merling Queen and Braavos for her time and services. She would attend to only the king, and the gift would be noted during discussions in the coming months.

The remaining petitions that morning aided in soothing the sharpness of her anger. However, once they were finished, something hot and ill-fitting sat high in her chest. 

When she passed her father along to Gendry in the late morning, she gave her husband a hard kiss that drew the second uncomfortable cough from father that day. 

It left Gendry pleasantly dopey, but it only soothed her while their lips and tongues touched. Once Gendry was out of her sight, Arya was livid again.

She could not help but ruminate all of the day. She wished so very dearly that she had someone with whom to speak of such matters. Mother and Sansa were in Highgarden to prepare for Sansa’s coming babe. She had no friend like Arianne in King’s Landing.

She stormed to their chambers like a lighting’s flash, and with a thunder’s clap, she slammed the door to their chambers.

For truth, she knew the cause of her ratings though she knew not why she raged so fiercely. Her skin crawled with the vision of Gendry touching and being touched by another despite knowing with such surety that he would never dishonor so. 

He had made that so very clear over and over through their years together. They were married before the old gods and the new. She was his and he was hers. And yet, the thought intensified the antsy heat in her chest screaming to her for more.

She doubted him not. No. It was a new urge bubbling inside her. An urge to have him in a physical, tangible way. 

Arya paced in the antechamber of their quarters. As she traced the length of the room, she was struck by the distance between where their bed sat and the door to the corridor as well as the thickness of the stones of the walls between the bed and the exit. 

The sounds of their engagements grew to such crescendos that the guards at their posts could hear them even through so many obstacles, like how a wolf’s howl carried far greater distances than one would think it should. Arya blushed and felt that sweet tug in her core.

She stilled.

She had not yet claimed Gendry. Not truly. Not as her mate. Not how a wolf would.

They pleasured one another, and it was wonderful and perfect and filled with their tender love. 

But that was not how a direwolf would mark her mate. Gendry was hers in every meaning she could give. She would take him tonight. 

-

With a decision made, Arya resumed her other daily tasks. She sent a messenger to inform Gendry to have a quick supper and then to return directly to their chambers.

As evening fell, Arya found herself pacing for the second time that day, now in the bedchamber. She was too hot in her skin and too hot between her legs as if a fire of need burned in her loins. 

Impatient and in need of something to do, Arya stripped and situated herself on their feather bed.

This day, Gendry followed his Small Council meeting with a trip to Flea Bottom to bring the orphanages new blankets and preserved foodstuffs for the deepening winter. Those trips always went long, and she understood. But, tonight she worried she would set their bed to cinders with the flames of her desire.

His eventual arrival was harkened by his heavy steps first in the corridor and then in the antechamber. Arya rose to her knees when she heard the handle to the bedchambers clank.

Gendry’s eyes were cast down to his hand on the laces of his cloak at his chest as he entered. His eyes flitted up to search for Arya when not a sound had yet come from the room to which she had summoned him.

He caught sight of her kneeling on their bed and went back to work on his laces for less than a moment before looking back at Arya, finally taking in that she was naked and watching him with a hungry smile.

He stumbled in the doorway, only just catching himself as his jaw went slack. Arya’s grin became almost wild at the sight of him. 

There was still a slight flush in his cheeks from his riding, deepening further with every moment his eyes roamed her pert breasts, her soft stomach, the thick thatch of curls between her muscular thighs.

“Why have you stopped?” Arya teased. 

Gendry made a halting movement with his hand toward the buckle of his leather jerkin, eyes coming back to Arya’s.

He swallowed. “You sent a letter for me to come to our rooms.” 

Arya nodded.

“I ate as you said to. On the ride back to the keep.” He still stood in the doorway with one had on the side of the door and the other alternating between trying to pull at the ties of his cloak and unbuckling the latches on his jerkin.

She was enjoying the way he seemed to have so thoroughly unraveled at the mere sight of her. However, he was still so very clothed when she would have particularly preferred him to be not clothed whatsoever.

“Very excellent, Gendry. I’ve summoned you for husbandly duties. Now, would you strip, please? With haste.”

The sound of the ties of Gendry’s cloak tearing from their seams followed by the ripping of the leather belt of his jerkin sent a thrill straight to her cunt.

He had only his leather breeches left when he brought his first knee onto their bed about to climb to join her.

She raised a hand to halt him, and he reared back at the motion.

“What is this?” she asked in faux incredulity. “I want you bare, husband. I said strip.”

Gendry stood back, looking like he wanted to laugh but was too focused while also lightheaded to manage. Tearing the laces of his pants, Gendry then pushed them and his small clothes forcefully down his thighs, leaving them an angry red.

His already hard and flush cock bounced free at last, and Arya nearly moaned at the sight. 

He looked up at her through his lashes with a surprisingly bashful smile. She did moan at that, the way this strong, powerful, stunningly handsome man could look at her with such soft boyish excitement.

Her thighs squeezed together in anticipation making a loud squelching sound. She would have blushed at such an intimate noise, but the way Gendry’s eyes glazed over as they fell from her face to her lower curls banished all embarrassment.

He threw himself heavily onto the side of the bed and rolled toward her, capturing her in his thick arms and bringing her down and under him in one smooth motion. Arya squealed with surprise and delight and then giggled as he ravished her neck and chest with kisses.

He laid his chest into her breasts, and she felt her wetness dripping down her slit and onto the bed. His weight pressing her into their featherbed came the closest to satisfying that which she had been craving all of the day, tearing a hard moan from deep within her.

His cock pressed into her leg and her hips lifted to press into Gendry’s muscled stomach. She shuttered at the scratch of her lower curls against his.

He dragged his body lower, taking a nipple into his mouth and laving with a determined earnestness that had her panting.

She hooked her hands under his arms to pull him higher so she could kiss his lips at last.

His tongue sought hers without hesitation. He moaned into her mouth as she rubbed and twisted her tongue firmly against his. Her deft fingers dragged through the now abundant hair of his chest, quickly finding his nipples and pressing her thumbs into then. Gendry rewarded her with a hiss and a buck of his hips. She started swift, tight circles around his nipples and his hips began bucking erratically against her leg. 

She growled as a wave of need washed over her. She truly felt like a wolf in heat. 

She came here to claim Gendry, and nothing less would assuage what had been roiling inside her since the moment the idea of him with another had clouded her mind.

She hooked her leg around Gendry’s and shoved them over so she sat atop his waist. 

Gendry gazed up at her dazed from the flip and hands taking purchase on the tops of her thighs to stroke them up and down. His thumbs grazed through the dark, thick curls over her cunt at the upstroke, making her shiver once again. 

Arya’s breath caught at the view of her husband. Panting and gleaming with sweat already. The blacks of his eyes were blown wide and unwavering as they watched her.

“Gendry,” she started. “I need your cock inside me tonight.” Her hands squeezed the flesh of his tits just a moment before his hands squeezed the flesh of her thighs. It would surely bruise in the morning, and the thought only furthered her desire.

“Shit. I mean, fuck. I—,” Gendry shuttered. “I still might not… last… for you,” he explained. “As it is, I might finish here and now if you smile at me just right.”

Arya smiled a wolfish grin. 

Gendry shut his eyes tight and tipped his head back. “Aye, like that.” He groaned and then took a deep breath.

He opened his eyes again, looked at Arya sitting on his lap, wanting and waiting, and he sat up. He took Arya’s jaw into his hand and kissed her hard.

She opened her mouth to him, and their tongues rubbed together, wet and with intent. Arya moaned before shoving Gendry back down with both hands.

He fell against the pillows in surprise and stared up at her.

Arya brought herself to her knees and moved until she was over Gendry’s thick, hard cock. It was red with need and looked to be as hot as her core felt.

Arya took him in hand and placed the head of his cock at her entrance. Already, the sweet, slick slide of his cock head against her swollen folds brought a whine high in her throat. Gendry’s jaw was clenched, and his hips bucked haltingly. His hands came to grab her hips, more to anchor himself than to guide her in any way. 

Arya readied herself. She relaxed her lower muscles as best she could, as her mother had advised so very long ago. She also reminded herself of her sister’s words. There would be minimal discomfort if she was properly aroused for their first encounter. She smiled to herself as she felt her wetness dribble onto her fingers at the base of Gendry’s cock.

Arya lowered herself slowly, the action coupled with a long, slow groan from Gendry as he entered her for the first time.

Once filled seated, Arya sighed at the fullness. 

It was not necessarily pleasurable, but there was no overt pain. For which she was distantly grateful. At the forefront of her mind was the sensation of stretching. It was the exact satisfaction she had been craving. This was it. Every inch of her skin hummed with it. She needed more.

She braced her hands on his chest and rolled her hips once. It was more strange than pleasurable. Gendry hissed at the movement and brought his hands from her hips to cover her hands on his chest, gripping them as his chest rose and fell with his heavy breaths. It spurred her to continue.

As she kept on and she grew more accustomed to the feel of it all, the pleasure grew. 

She tightened the muscles of her cunt, and it brought more licks of pleasure within her. She also watched Gendry make that face that looked like pain but she knew now was immense pleasure, and it made her smile.

Taking in and letting out a deep breath, Arya relaxed her body once more. She leaned forward to rest more of her weight on her arms. The new position would give her more power in the movements of her hips and also pleasantly eased the tension of the intrusion of Gendry’s cock sheathed inside her, allowing even more of the strangeness to subside.

Arya rocked her hips, and this time the unhindered pleasure shocked through her entire body. A wail escaped her lips before she could stop it.

Gendry’s eyes, wild and concerned, found hers.

“A good sound,” she assured him. 

Eyes now locked, Arya set a quick rocking pace. 

The sudden intensity of the pleasure and rightness of her movements shocked her near to the point of forgetting to breathe. She went faster, rocking sometimes rhythmic, sometimes erratic. Gendry’s name fell from her lips over and over like a prayer.

Beneath her, he began a panicky, whiny sound until his grip on her hands tightened and he groaned as he fell apart beneath her. 

Arya stilled her hips and eyed his open mouth, his wet tongue gleaming just right in the candlelight. She watched the muscles of his chest and arms and neck flex and twitch. She took in all of him as his spill filled inside her and slipped out between them, and more than that she was awash with the satisfaction she had been looking for since that morning. He was her, and she felt feral with it.

His grip relaxed on her hands, and she resumed rocking slowly until his cock softened and slipped out. She felt his release drip from her entrance and it sent a delightful shiver up her spine like a salve for everything that had been pent up inside her all day. 

Just as Arya prepared to shift her weight to move off Gendry, his hands gripped her hips and adjusted them up so more of her cunt is visible to him. One hand held her in that position while the other left her hip to push two of his long, thick fingers inside her, slickened deliciously with his seed. 

She sighed at the blissful return of that new and wonderful filled sensation and then moaned high and sharp as his thumb circled that spot that sent her to her glory. 

Arya rode his hand as she had his cock, falling back on her hands as she gripped his knees for support. She lost herself in it all until she felt tiny perfect pinpricks at the base of her spine just before her cunt began convulsing around Gendry’s fingers and the wash of pleasure became too much and she screamed out every bit of pleasure that would not fit into her small body. 

She held herself there, spine arched, head thrown back, splayed open for Gendry, sweet perfect wonderful Gendry, who continued to rub soft slow circles in her folds, prolonging her release into a gentle lapping of waves. 

She panted up toward the canopy. She noted again the stitched images of the Kings of Winter and their feats. A pale brightness caught the corner of her eye, in great contrast to the soft yellows of the candles and the fire of the room.

She turned her head to see a full moon, positioned perfectly in the sky through the window. Arya grinned and thought she could hear Nymeria howling at that same moon in the Riverlands. With her pups. One named Lady.

Arya righted herself, and Gendry sat up to meet and kiss her. 

Arya moaned into his mouth. On her next breath, she lifted her chin and moaned louder into the canopy above. 

Eventually, her folds became too sensitive. A boneless arm reached to still his hand. Arya craned her neck and used the same hand to tilt Gendry’s head to give her his lips. They kissed lazily, all lips and just the tips of their tongues playfully peeking out for little licks and then returning to smiling mouths.

-

After breaths were caught and waters were made and cleanings were finished and candles were blown out, Arya and Gendry settled onto the other side of the bed for the night.

Gendry had chosen to remain unclothed, while Arya had decided to utilize Gendry’s otherwise unused nightshirt.

They held each other close, unwilling yet to spend another moment without the other’s warmth. It helped settle the wolfblood in Arya, as she had taken to referring to it now that it had been satisfied.

Gendry laid on his back with Arya tucked close to his side, half laying across his chest with her leg thrown over his middle. He had one arm holding firmly around her shoulders, while his other hand rested heavily on her thigh, his thumb absentmindedly grazing the soft skin.

“Did something happen today?” Gendry’s voice was a low rumble in his chest that pleased Arya to no end.

“You’re mine,” was her only answer, which made him smile and chuckle.

They were both quiet for several minutes.

“I promise you’ll come on my cock next time.” He sounded half apologetic, half cocky.

“Oh, well, if you promise, then I must hold you to that.”

“You can hold anything to me.”

She snorted. “You make no sense!”

“You expect too much of a boy who just became a man.”

Arya grazed her nails down his cheek, enjoying the way they caught on his stubble. “You have been a man as long as I have known you.” She thought back to their wedding night. “A man is no man if he is not honorable, and you are the most honorable man I know.”

Gendry looked down and away, all cockiness lost. “Most would say there is no honor for a man born a bastard, no matter what papers they hold at the citadel.”

“Well, then, they are _stupid_ and you must ignore them. How one is born is nothing to the actions in their life.” She took hold of his jaw, turned his head to look back at her, and stared hard into his eyes, which were soft and vulnerable in the gentle light of the night. “You are curt and can be incredibly rude,” he frowned, and she smiled. “And, your heart is so big I do not know how it fits in your chest.” She dropped her hand from his jaw to his chest. Holding his stare until the unsure look in his eyes shifted into something softer, she said with feeling, “You’re a good man. I see it in every piece of you. I am grateful that I get to share my life with you.”

His chin shook for a moment before his face split into a watery grin, and it felt as if the entirety of the sun was in her chest. He leaned in to press his forehead to hers and they both took shuddering breaths. “You _are_ my life, Arya. You have all of it.” He spoke so softly, but it felt like a shout with their faces so near. 

They held each other close and kissed until they drifted to sleep.

In the morning, the way the dawn light cast shadows on his cheeks from his lashes was unbearably pretty. Arya ghosted a finger along the very tips of his lashes, making them flutter.

She dragged her leg against his and relished in the tingling sensation of their hairs scratching against each other.

They had a few more hours till they would be called to their duties, so Arya tucked her face closer to Gendry’s and let his steady breaths lull her back to sleep.

True to his word, Gendry would soon after improve his endurance such that, on one particularly ardent bout of lovemaking, he brought Arya to her peak twice on his cock before he spent himself inside her. 

He was so unbearably proud of himself in the following days that Arya nearly wondered if it had been worth it. Nearly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much as always for reading! You may have noticed the chapter count went up! This was part of why I have taken so long to post this chapter. It was supposed to be the last one and include all the ending bits I wanted, but it just kept getting longer until the point that I couldn't put it all into one chapter. Truly, everyone who commented on ao3 and messaged me on Tumblr with encouragements and their enthusiasm for this story, you all really helped keep my spirits up and kept me passionate about this story at a time when passion feels a little hard, and I thank all of you and truly hope this is as enjoyable as the rest of the story has been.
> 
> I love you all so much, so please, stay safe and stay strong! <3<3<3<3<3<3<3


	7. Westeros II (Gendry's Interlude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms carries great burdens and responsibilities with that role, but none so loathsome as being the son of King Robert Baratheon. Thankfully, his burdens are shared with his wife and future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the magnificent Arya Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize profusely for the slowness of my updates! With the pandemic, my previous routines have been drastically changed, and setting time to write, no matter how much I love and enjoy doing it, gets harder and harder. Thank you so so much to everyone who reached out with kind and loving words of encouragement! They truly do help me stay focused on writing and sharing this story with everyone. You guys are all truly the most supportive and enthusiastic readers! You all make it a joy to share these stories <3<3<3<3<3<3<3
> 
> This is a chapter from Gendry's POV! I originally wrote most of this from Arya's POV but started to really like the idea of turning it around and finally seeing how Gendry experiences this world. For timing reference since it has been a while since I posted, this should be about 3-4 months since Arya's seventeenth birthday but only a few weeks after the previous chapter.

King Robert Baratheon loved many things. He loved ale and women and sleeping and, most unfortunately for Gendry, he loved hunting. 

Gendry had been able to eschew joining the king on hunting trips over the years. He would claim bouts of sickness or vital duties or would simply be visiting another kingdom for months at a time with Arya. 

From what he had heard of them, they were affairs designed as Gendry’s own personal Seven Hells. It would be three days and three nights in the Kingswood outside of King’s Landing with three men of the Kingsguard and whichever men of court the king had in favor at the time and had deemed enjoyable enough to bring along, which to Gendry was the greatest condemnation a man could have against him.

He had heard that on one trip, the men, guards included, got themselves so blindingly drunk that one of them died in his sleep, drowning in his own vomit, and they were all still so pissed in the morning that they did not notice until their return and the man’s poor wife cried out when she could not find him among the party.

He had heard that on another occasion, Robert had brought a whore along with them whom they had all shared throughout their days together. All men returned with lice in the hair of their genitals, requiring the prompt shaving of that hair to the king’s great amusement.

The man was crude, rude, and had never once spoken a word to Gendry in the nigh three years he had known the man that did not sound like the scrape of a dull sword over rusted armor.

And, if he brought a whore with them on this trip, Gendry would turn right back round to the castle with the people with some sense.

Gendry stomped through his and Arya’s chambers as he petulantly packed a sack for the hunt while forlornly thinking on how this would be the first time he and Arya had been apart since their wedding night. He did, however, almost smile when Arya laughed as she lounged on their bed when he had to dump his possessions from his sack to repack with better forethought to organization.

He tucked into his belt the valyrian steel hunting knife the king had gifted him that long ago morning of his wedding, which he then had used to slice his own flesh rather than brutalize his young bride as the king had wanted. 

At the gate to the Red Keep the morning of his departure, his wife and her father bade him farewell, Arya with a firm but chaste kiss—as they had shared their proper goodbyes when they woke that morning in a way that now had Gendry even more dejected at having to leave on this trip—and Ned Stark with a nod and a glint in his eye that told Gendry he knew exactly how much Gendry would hate his next three days. 

With hunched shoulders and an expression even he knew was surly, Gendry left with the king and the rest of the men through the gate. He hated every trot of his destrier, but he still petted the mare’s mane. He was not sure whom he was trying to comfort.

-

The hunting trip was exactly as unbearable as Gendry knew it would be. He managed to go the entire ride from King’s Landing without having to speak to anyone about anything.

Robert spoke enough for all the men, expecting only laughter in response and already too drunk to notice if someone did not.

Gendry had gone almost the entire day’s travels without laughing until they stopped to make camp for the night and Robert fell to the ground as he dismounted his horse.

He had to hide his laugh, of course. As well as pretend, with all the other companions, that he had not noticed.

Robert dusted himself off and coughed awkwardly before barking an order to the knights of the Kingsguard who had joined them.

The next afternoon while walking the Kingswood in search of game, Gendry began to feel the king’s notice that he spoke to no one besides the knights, and only then it was to coordinate and assist with their duties. 

The hunting party carried their weapons ready for a boar or a stag or any other beast deemed worthy of a decent hunter according to Robert.

The men’s idle chatter grew excited when one man of the court admitted to tasting his wife between her legs upon her ardent request. The others howled with laughter when he called it _The Lord’s Kiss_.

The story brought forth a memory for Gendry of Prince Oberyn Martell. He had told Gendry of this act. That a woman found it most pleasurable and that it was also most enjoyable for the one performing the act. He had recommended frequent performances.

Robert guffawed and stumbled over an exposed tree root. “The Lord’s Kiss? I am no lord. I am a king! I would not debase myself by such an act.”

First hocking phlegm at his feet, Robert adjusted his grip on his spear and addressed his natural born son. 

“You still have a tongue there, Gendry my boy?”

“Aye, Your Grace,” Gendry said. His tone was neutral but he had not turned when he spoke.

From the corner of his eye, Gendry saw Robert glance to the other men, who appeared ardently interested in a particular nearby tree, and then back at Gendry with a look Gendry never liked. Though, to be fair, Gendry never much liked any expression the man made. 

He was red-faced under his beard, sweat dripping through it in the light heat of the early afternoon. With a cocky sneer, Robert said, “It might be you left your tongue along with your cock with your wife in the Keep. In your chambers where you disgrace yourself like this sod here?”

The man made an affronted noise that had the other men attempting to hide their snickering and jabbing elbows.

“Oh, I see you as you are. One night away from between the legs of that lovely bride of yours has you pouting like a fucking child.”

The men laughed, and Gendry grit his teeth but said nothing, maintaining his stride. 

“I’d be jealous, but that wolf bitch—” 

“Don’t call her that!” Gendry snarled over Robert, but the man only smiled wider as he went on.

“—must have you by the roots of your curlies. I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve been having her since she was so young and so sweet. Any man may come to shame himself when partaking in such tender flesh.” 

“You speak such disgusting filth of my wife.” Gendry stopped walking, and the rest of the party stopped uneasily with him. 

“You say that, my boy,” Robert said, pressing the butt of his spear into the dirt and resting his weight on it. “But you’re the one who beds her. Was not I who took her maiden’s blood. I saw the sheets. Even after the fool you made yourself at your wedding feast. Yell and posture all you like, boy. You did as I told, and you were happy for it.” 

Gendry tasted blood as he bit his tongue to hold his silence. The lie he and Arya had made so long ago mattered no longer, yet still, this was not the place for such truths. Not in front of men such as these.

Fury. The word did not feel strong enough. Large enough for this man. So unworthy of anything he touched. 

Robert’s face fell for only a moment, a wisp of fear in his eyes before his face contorted to match Gendry’s. Robert puffed his chest and gripped his spear, standing to carry his weight again.

The leather-bound hilt of the blade in Gendry’s hand, unsheathed and ready for their hunt, strained audibly. He watched Robert’s lip curl.

It was his Valyrian steel hunting blade, the very one used to create that lie. It felt like an extension of his own hand. 

Gendry had never murdered a man. He held no qualms for the act itself. He had seen it done. In the streets of Flea Bottom in the dark or in the light. With cause or without. His father was an awful man in his eyes. He had nearly run the continent into bankruptcy with his gluttony, only stopped by Gendry and Lord Stark intervening. Despite her own terrible deeds, from all Gendry had heard, Robert had abused his wife while they were wed. Gendry could see a woman choosing to bed her own brother rather than this man.

And, he would have Gendry do the same to Arya. Why was he such a ruinous man? Why did Gendry have to come from him? Some drunk would have been far better preferred than _the_ drunk of the Seven Kingdoms.

Gendry would not see himself as a bad man if he murdered his father. An evil act to rid the world of a greater evil. However, if he slipped the blade into the fat man’s belly here in the forest, the other men present would strike him down faster than he could defend himself. He would not be permitted to return to the keep in anything but shackles. He would be ripped of his titles and crown, and that would all be fine with him. It was never what he truly wanted for himself. 

What he could not stand, would never allow, was to be taken from Arya. Which was exactly what would happen if he were to slay his father this day. He would not leave her. Ever. Especially not for such a pathetic man, so far past his glory he had spoiled the memories of any good he had ever done in days past. His tales were spoken of as if he were a god. How sad it was to watch a god outlive their use. Still prayed to by obligation but not need. Not reverence. No longer were blood sacrifices made at his alter. Only spilled ale and sloshed wine as tribute to his work.

Gendry took a deep breath, sheathed his small blade, and walked on. He ignored Robert’s shouts. For the rest of the hunt, Gendry spoke as little as was required of him to anyone. 

When left alone, he would almost enjoy himself. The woods were not so bare as he imagined they were in the North. If he looked up, there were many new birds he had never seen. Or, maybe they were birds he had seen before but had changed coloring for the winter. At night was when he missed Arya the most. He barely slept from the cold winds blowing through the walls of his tent. At least during the day, moving around warmed him well enough.

After three very long days and nights, the party returned to the castle.

Robert had tried to shout for Gendry as they passed through the gates of the Red Keep.

He heard, “You give it a try if you must, boy! You’ll know I’m right once you do!” but he maintained his horse’s stride, eyes darting around the courtyard.

There she was, sprinting through a doorway in breeches and a loose braid.

Gendry cobbled off his horse in time for Arya to rush bodily into him.

He lifted her from the ground in a hug and spun them around, eliciting a perfect squeal from her. He buried his face in her neck and inhaled. He felt muscles he did not even realize were tensed relax as the smell of her skin and hair filled him with sanity and serenity. 

Her heat, her laugh, her gentle weight in his arms. He had missed it all and felt at home with her finally with him again. As he placed her on the ground, he was so very glad he had not slain his father. 

-

That evening, Arya regaled Gendry with all he had missed, which in all truth, she had admitted, had been very little.

Arya had mostly been bored.

Bran and Rickon had done their best to lift her spirits, distracting her with games even during her duties and occupying her evenings with new stories and tales they had been gathering from staff in the castle and then debating amongst themselves which ones they thought were real and which ones were too fantastical to be anything but a yarn.

She admitted shyly that she had been loitering near the parapets the evening of the party’s return, which was why she had been so quick to greet him.

She also informed him of the hilarity of him returning from an excursion with King Robert wearing his sourest of sour faces. To which Gendry rolled his eyes, only to renew her mirth.

Washed and dressed in clean sleep pants, Gendry settled into their feather bed exhausted and with his Arya in his arms. Her breath on his chest as they fell to sleep filled him with a deep and heavy rightness that lulled his achy muscles to an easy sleep.

-

Gendry would not necessarily consider Small Council meetings to be boring. They were important and required his attention and input throughout. However, today required a bit more effort than usual to maintain his focus. The negotiations of the trade agreements with Braavos were finally coming close to an end, and that most definitely would require his utmost focus and attention to ensure its successful execution. 

He had heard about the courtesan the Braavosi Magistrate had sent. Robert had grossly and against Gendry’s wishes described how the woman had manhandled him and how invigorating it had been. As much as hearing that made Gendry’s skin crawl, he could acknowledge the gift for what it was: Braavos attempting to ingratiate themselves and show they mean to maintain an amicable relationship with Westeros.

After the meeting, Gendry stayed behind for another hour to discuss with Varys what his spies had heard in or around Braavos in recent weeks to confirm that the free city state’s actions matched their intentions. 

As far as Varys had heard, Braavos had no ill intentions or tricks laying in waiting over the trade deals. They apparently had been wanting to establish better trade with Westeros for decades. Unfortunately, the Mad King had been… well, too insane to work with, and Robert had been too foolishly aggressive in negotiations, refusing compromises that would have benefitted him in the pursuit of total control of the trade in the Narrow Seas.

Assured of the progress of the new trade deals, Gendry parted ways with the Master of Whispers. 

Done with his primary duties for the day, Gendry sought out Arya.

It had been but a fortnight since his return from his hunt with the king, and Gendry could admit that he had been particularly clingy since then. It had been the first time they had been apart since they had met! As he could have and did predict, it was an overall awful experience. Arya did not seem to mind his increased presence during the day and ardent lovemaking at night, for which he was grateful.

He had grown particularly fond of the position where she would cradle him in her legs as he thrust her into their bed, narrowing their world to only where they touched and joined and the air they shared in their passion. Though he would admit, there was no comparing to Arya’s magnificence when she sat in his lap and took him for all he was worth, looking like a goddess at the altar of his body.

He missed the first step of the stairs to descend the tower, startling his guards.

One of those guards had just previously been posted with Arya and directed them to the very rarely used Queen’s Quarters.

Arya did not use the bedroom, but she occasionally would use the antechamber for business or solitude when she was busy.

As they walked, Gendry recalled again his conversation with Prince Oberyn.

The man had no shame, and Gendry would have preferred that the man had had at least some shame. Regardless, he had told Gendry of the wonders of the Lord’s Kiss. Robert had balked at it outright, but, if anything, that told Gendry it was most definitely something he must do. Not that he had doubted Prince Oberyn and had already wanted to try it. Very much so.

But, at the time, Arya had still been young and uninterested in such things. Though, that was also around when she had gotten all wiggly. Pestering him about his cock no matter how much he did _not_ want to be pestered about his cock. A man should not be mocked when preserving his wife’s honor, yet the gall of Arya Stark knew no bounds. 

Gendry smiled at the memory and then coughed when the sudden vision of Arya impassioned as he pleasured her with his mouth, breasts heaving and her throat taut as she moaned struck him.

He missed a step in his stride again and this time with no excuse of a stair. He ignored the confused looks of his guards.

Gendry wondered if Arya would let him try the act. In his mind, he had put aside much of what Prince Oberyn had told him in Dorne since he could not act on them, and thinking on them only caused him stress and guilt and awkwardness. For better or worse, his hand had been his solace for much of his life, and he was grateful he no longer felt a menace each time he hardened in his breeches, inadvertently or not. He could now use Prince Oberyn’s lessons, those which had been burned into his mind but had been shelved into the recesses of said mind for his sanity.

From what Prince Oberyn said, women very greatly enjoyed the Lord’s Kiss. The wet, hot tongue on their lower lips made them go mad with pleasure. He had said that if a woman were to be coy or not yet sure if she will take a man to her bed, then he needed only to put his mouth to her cunt and she would drag him there herself before she had even caught her breath from her peak.

Arya already dragged Gendry to their bed fairly frequently these days. He wondered how she would react to this. He hoped he could do it well enough and that she would enjoy it.

He felt a pang of uncertainty. What if she was opposed to the act? What if she let him and then he was shit at it?

His hands gripped into fists and unclenched over and over, and he blew a breath out through his nose as he neared the Queen’s Chambers.

Prince Oberyn, while far too graphic at times and far too enthusiastic with how graphic he could get, had been at least educational in mechanics and logistics. Preparation was essential, and the satisfaction of your lover came before you own. These were his tenets of his sexual life. As much as Gendry had not wanted to know as much as Prince Oberyn had told him of his sexual life, the advice had proven exceptionally correct.

He had been having Arya dictate all their bedly endeavors, not wanting to do anything untoward or too quickly for her. Though, it was not as if he knew what he was doing, anyway, to be able to act as any sort of expect on bedsport. 

She had not made any mention of an act such as this, but he would have to have faith it would be welcomed and ideally well received, should he perform it well enough. If he was indeed shit at it, then he would just ask her how she would like it better and do it that way. It was simple. She was never shy to tell him what she preferred in bed. He would just need to trust her and listen to her, whether that be with her words or her moans. This had served him well so far.

He nodded to himself as he and his guards turned the corner to the hall to the chambers.

The guards posted at her door straightened as they saw Gendry approach. 

Gendry raised his brows slightly to the guards.

“Her Majesty, the Princess, is meeting with Lord Baelish, your Highness,” said one of the guards.

Ordinarily, Gendry would not impose upon Arya while she attended her matters. However, he had never managed to find his footing with this particular man. 

Among the others of the Small Council, Gendry understood where Varys aligned himself, and the two men regarded each other with respect, though not friendship. Pycelle stirred up neither trouble nor greatness, so Gendry at least knew to expect nothing from the man beside his continued existence. His Uncle Stannis could still rile Gendry up as if that was his true position and not the Master of Ships, but he could not deny his competency with a navy and his stalwart loyalty to the Baratheon line. Uncle Renly could have been better as a Master of Laws, but he was similarly loyal to the Baratheon name. Gendry actually liked Ser Barristan Selmy. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard was the type of knight all other knights wanted to be, and he was honest with Gendry, even when he knew Gendry would not like what he said. For that, Gendry deferred to his judgment on near all matters of the Kingsguard. Though, early in Gendry’s time as the Prince, he recommended to the Ser to better manage the men on their vow to never fathering children, as from his experience very few of the knights had been adhering to the promise while in Flea Bottom.

Some good men, some not terrible men on the Small Council.

However, Little Finger sat strangely on Gendry’s chest. He was genial and so very helpful to any need any man could imagine. His words never offended, and he seemed to always know just the right person to aid in any endeavor. Notwithstanding, he had enabled King Robert to nearly bankrupt the continent and was the exclusive supplier of whores to the king. His seemingly never-ending parade of women for the king to sup from had churned his stomach early on. It had been a topic Lord Stark had also found distasteful but had shirked acting on it. Gendry took it upon himself to impose upon the Master of Coin to limit the frequency and number of women sent to Robert. It had been met with resistance, to which Gendry held his position. Ever since Gendry had been wanting to replace the man as the Master of Coin. Personal animosities aside, the man simply did not seem fit for the position. He managed the royal coffers poorly, while his own business thrived.

All the while, Gendry occasionally glimpsed, only for a moment at a time, something dead in his smiling eyes.

That was why instead of waiting for the meeting to end, he stepped between the kingsguards posted on either side of the door and knocked heartily.

After a moment, “What is it?” Arya called from inside the room.

“It’s me,” Gendry yelled at the door.

A pleasantly surprised, “Oh!” came through the door, followed by, “Come in!”

Gendry pushed through, and his eyes immediately found Arya’s happy face. 

She stood from her chair behind her desk, while Little Finger turned round in his seat which sat facing Arya. 

Arya said with finality, “We were just finishing up.”

Little Finger turned and made an abortive gesture with his hands before relaxing his shoulders and standing up. He turned back to Gendry and for a flash, his lip was snarled and his stare was hard. Quick as can be, Little Finger once again wore that placid genial look he often donned.

Gendry would begin searching in earnest for a new Master of Coin. He would speak with Varys so as to maintain discretion. There were few with whom Little Finger had not already ingratiated himself.

Arya spoke as she organized papers on her desk, “Thank you for coming to see me this afternoon, Lord Baelish. Next time, I will be sure to respect your time and keep our meeting to the allotted duration.” She smiled at him, and he smiled and bowed in return.

“On the contrary, Princess, you have my deepest thanks for your time. It is my greatest pleasure to provide for the royal family anything they may desire. Please, keep in mind what we spoke of today.”

“Thank you, Lord Baelish,” she said again.

Little Finger once again bowed to Arya and turned to leave.

Gendry followed him with his eyes as he exited, bowing to Gendry as he passed him. 

Gendry closed the door, catching the eye of a guard as he did, both blushing lightly. 

It made Gendry pause only a moment before turning around to Arya. They had both had to grow accustomed to the impossibility of privacy. Usually, they had at least two doors and plenty of distance between them and the men of the kingsguard, not accounting the stolen kisses in passageways which were politely ignored by the guards. Arya had told him that they gossiped, and he hated that so very much. She assured him it was nothing but praise, and he actually hated that more. He did not need his men discussing his marriage bed. Though, he could admit there was at least one drop of fondness in the sea of embarrassment and shyness that frothed within him for the men to take into account how he treated his wife when they weighed his judgments.

Still, it was easier to pretend they were alone when Gendry did not get a knowing glance from a knight of the Seven Kingdoms, but he pushed that discomfort aside when he saw Arya’s glowing smile.

“Thank the gods you came when you did. That meeting was supposed to end over half an hour ago, but the damned man would not stop talking.” Arya huffed, and Gendry could not help but feel fond of the sound and the little snarl she made on one side of her lips. “As I have been taking over looking at the sums of the keep from him and the castellan, he has been trying harder and harder to give me advice and offering to simply continue to do the work for me.” She huffed again. “I like neither the implication that I cannot do the job myself nor the possibility that there is something he may lose by my ability to actually do the job well.” Her brows knitted together, and Gendry made his way to stand beside her.

He rubbed soothing circles on her back until her brows unknit. She leaned her shoulder into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her.

Gendry spoke softly to the top of her head, “He has not been a very good Master of Coin, regardless. I’ll be looking into a replacement with discretion. He has too many friends and he hasn’t committed any grievous offenses we can use to easily justify his removal.” 

Arya hummed her approval.

“Maybe, Varys can find something we can use to excuse his dismissal,” Gendry mused.

“Do you trust him?” Arya looked up at him.

He ran a hand over her hair, loose and stunning with two pieces at her temples pulled back to keep the rest from falling into her face. A Northern style she favored. She had never taken to the complicated and painful southron styles, for which he was grateful. He loved being able to touch it as he did now. “I trust him for as long as he trusts me. I’ve not neglected any duties nor done anything unsavory for him to dislike, so most like we are on acceptable terms and he will not attempt to overthrow us.”

Arya hummed in response. 

Gendry gave her body a reassuring squeeze and then turned her to face him. She looked at him with a happy and open expression which he returned. He moved them so they were behind her desk, and then he took her by the hips and lifted her onto it.

She looked at him at first with delighted confusion. When he stepped between her legs, wedging them farther open with his hips, her expression heated and her smile turned to a smirk.

“You’ve never taken me outside our marriage bed, dear husband,” she said in a low tone, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He leaned down and sucked on her neck just below her ear. She sighed, and he dragged his lips lower and laved his tongue at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

Her arms slid down from his neck to grip the meat of his arms. 

He nipped at her skin, and her fingers dug his arm, her nails biting at his flesh even through the linen of his sleeves.

He had not ceased to draw immense satisfaction from reactions like that. He loved when she tugged and pulled and _squeezed_ him. So filled with emotion and want and desire that she thrashed with it. He had never met anyone so filled with feelings as Arya Stark. So filled with wonder and vivacity and hunger. It made him hunger, too. In a way he never imagined for himself.

He had felt hunger on the streets of Flea Bottom as a boy. With his mum when she would lock him out for the night to sleep on the stoop when he misbehaved. While he wandered the streets and slept in alleys after she died and before he began work with Master Mott. Once with him, he never much went hungry, though his stomach never felt full either. Instead, he hungered for the life he would have with his new skills. He hungered for the day he could own a thing and no one else would try to sell it or take it away from him. No one would question him for having worldly possessions for the sake of it. He hungered for that which was on his path but not yet in his grasp.

With Arya, she hungered for anything she could grasp anywhere she went and joyed at whatever it was. No factoid too trivial, no lightly allegory too lofty. No servant too lowly from whom to learn, no highlord too mighty with whom to jest.

It was all so interesting to her, and it grew in him a hunger to give her anything to feed her hunger. Give anything to fill her. Give anything to be what filled her.

Arya ducked her head so her lips could reach Gendry’s for a kiss. He obliged, welcoming her tongue into his mouth so she could languidly massage his tongue with her own. The wet sounds of their tongues sliding and slipping would forever be the most erotic sounds of Gendry’s life. He was sure of this. Maybe second to the squelching sounds they made as they joined for true. As he thrust or Arya rode—any position that had his cock inside her sweet, wet, snug cunt was his favorite position—those were excellent sounds of which he would never tire.

Today he hoped to hear a new sound.

He pulled back and brought both hands to cup Arya’s face, looking into her eyes. The blacks were blown out and her lips were wet and kiss bruised. He groaned and leaned in to capture her lips again. Her kisses were always so hungry and yearning, and he did his best to give her everything she wanted, every part of him there was to give and more.

When they paused for a breath, Gendry bit Arya’s lower lip firmly but not painfully. She sighed and wrapped her legs around Gendry’s middle. The sound of skirts ruffling and dragging went straight to his cock and spurred him on. 

Her tongue was in his mouth again, and his cock was already hard and pushing against her thigh. But, that was not what he had started this for.

He pulled back again but only far enough to rest his forehead against Arya’s. Her eyes stayed closed and her lips pursed for two moments before she caught up to his stilling. Her hazy eyes searched his, and she smiled lazily at him.

He smiled back and smacked another kiss to her lips, making her huff out a laugh. 

Gendry swallowed the pooling spit in his mouth before speaking. “My love,” he started, and Arya tightened her thighs around his hips. “May I kiss you?” he asked.

“You already were, and it was rather fantastic. So, please, continue if you will.” She laughed lightly and tipped her chin up to continue kissing.

He gave her a chaste peck on her lips but pulled back to continue with a smile. “I mean to say, may I kiss you,” he trailed off as he dropped slowly to a squat, holding her stare. He took loose hold of her ankles and ran his hands up her legs, dragging her skirts up with him. “Here,” he finished, punctuating the word by gripping her thighs and pulling her arse to the edge of the wooden desk and pressing his hardness against her.

Arya gasped and clung close to him. “Oh, Gendry,” she breathed. “My sister told me about that. She said it is very nice.” She licked her lips. “Oh, yes. Let’s try that if you’d like.”

Gendry nodded and kissed her again, deep and slow and simmering. His lips and tongue chased hers for a moment when she pulled away.

Arya leaned back, first onto her elbows still eyeing him and then flat onto her back, her unfocused gaze on the ceiling.

Her openness and trust for him brought a tightness to his chest he recognized but had not yet grown accustomed to.

Reaching further under her skirts, Gendry took hold of the edges of her small clothes. She lifted her hips for him to pull them down, and he was instantly rewarded with the sight and musk of her curl covered groin. He stepped back just enough to pull the clothes down her legs and over her slippers, which he then took off, too. He stepped back between her legs. His cock was straining painfully against the leather of his trousers, but it was a distant thrum when his entire focus was on the delicate pink peeking out to him from within Arya’s dark hair. He dragged the pads of his fingers over the course but soft curls. It simultaneously sent shivers through them both.

Tucking his hair behind his ears, Gendry bent over and hooked his arms under and around Arya’s thighs. He secured them on his shoulders and basked in the heat radiating from her. He had never been this close to Arya’s perfect cunt. She was already wet, her fluids gathering at her entrance shiny and thick.

At his first tentative lick, Arya jolted violently with a yelp. He jerked his head up, but Arya was quick to assuage him. He distantly worried the guards would burst through the door to intervene.

“A good sound,” she said breathlessly. “Please, keep going.”

He gave another lick, and then another and another. Arya moaned and writhed under him, and he quickly lost himself in his movements and the guards from his mind. 

Arya’s hands tugged at his hair hard. It hurt, but he liked it. The pain made him moan against her soft flesh, which in turn made her scream out low and then high pitched. Her heels dug into his back, and that was a bit uncomfortable actually. Though, no way in all the Seven Hells was he going to stop her. Her hips bucked against him and her legs tightened around his head, so he used his hands to grip the tops of her thighs and stay her.

Prince Oberyn had spoken on complicated maneuvers of the tongue, but Gendry had kept it simple for his first attempt. He made his tongue flat and firm and wide and maintained a consistent pressure and rhythm, making sure to also flick the tip of his tongue against the bit of flesh she always wanted particular attention given to. Within a few short minutes, Arya came with a keening shout against his aching jaw. 

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she rasped.

He continued to lave gently and slowly at her still quivering folds as she chanted his name on her breath like a prayer until the hands in his hair pulled him away. 

She held his head up by his hair and had leaned up just slightly to catch his eye. He was sure he was quite the sight to see. Eyes barely focused, mouth shining from having just made love to her with his mouth, hair mussed to shit.

And her, what a perfect fucking sight instead. Eyes similarly hazy, mouth hanging open but smiling as she gasped for air, neck and cheeks flushed.

She dropped her legs to the sides and pulled him up, putting him to rest on her chest with his face tucked into the exposed wet flesh just above her breasts. She hugged him to her, and he rose and fell with her labored breath. He looked up to see her gasping and grinning at the ceiling. He laid his head back down to rest on her chest, and she rested her chin on his head.

As he came back to himself, the pain of his trapped arousal became suddenly unbearable. He could not stop his hands as they went to his laces, untying them and dropping his breeches to the floor. He blindly took his cock in hand and began pumping vigorously as if he was a boy of three and ten again with nothing but his hand and a mighty need. 

He came quickly with a drawn out groan against the sticky skin of the tops of Arya’s breasts, spilling on the floor with a sound he knew was disgusting and shameful, but he could not bring himself to give fuck at that moment. The taste of Arya was still thick on his tongue, he was laid pleasantly between her legs, and her soft little hands were stroking his head and back soothingly as they both caught their breaths.

Gendry hated thinking about the man in such otherwise perfect moments, but he had to laugh at finding yet another thing Robert was wrong about. So very fucking wrong.

Arya placed a kiss to the crown of his head, and neither could be bothered to move for several long minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first half of this chapter is basically Gendry goes on a trip and is literally that meme of an exchange of texts:  
> A: I need a reason not to kill someone.  
> B: I can’t fuck you in prison.
> 
> I also like to think that given the opportunity to educate himself, Gendry becomes a major nerd. He still speaks with a bit of an accent and rarely speaks all fancy, but he for sure thinks in fancy words and terms a lot of the time.
> 
> The theme of this chapter: Gendry hates Robert so fucking much. He gets so close to murdering the man and it is NOT the first time. It makes him poetic lol
> 
> There’s also a fun zeugma in here that I am very proud of haha
> 
> Also, this was supposed to only be about 2000 words, 2500 tops, but it turns out Gendry had WAYYYYYY more feelings than I realized. One of my major headcanons is that Gendry is majorly judgy but is a quiet guy so we don’t usually get to hear it, so getting in his head yielded more snark than I expected, though really I should not have been so surprised.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and sharing in this story with me!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I don't mean this as a bribe but as an honest truth: comments help me write/edit faster. (the validation makes me second guess myself less and therefore less overthinking and more writey writey lol)


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